The Champions 2003 The Horsemen
by Mandi5
Summary: The Champions become caught up in the Iraq war. This is my first Champions fan fic. I've loved this series ever since watching it way back when I was a kid. FINAL CHAPTER NOW UP! Please read and review.
1. Default Chapter

Summary. The Champions become caught up in the war in Iraq.

a/n -I began this story before the tragic events regarding the hunt for WMD's unfolded. This is a piece of fiction and in no way is meant to represent any person or persons living or dead.

I have also taken the liberty of bringing The Champions into today's world (they have mobile phones, etc. now!) and I've increased their telepathic powers. (Well, they've had time to develop it!)

Disclaimer. The Champions and characters are the property of ITC Carlton. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no profit will be made from it.

The Champions 2003.

The Horsemen

by

Mandi Sheridan.

"Richard!" A look of horror crossed Sharron's face. And pain. Terrible pain etched across her pretty features and tears filled her eyes. "Craig is in serious trouble!"

"I know," he replied quietly. "I feel it too."

Richard Barrett's hand trembled as he lifted his glass, spilling a little of the whiskey over the side. Another wave of pain hit them both and he was grateful for the strong liquid. He took another gulp, and cast a glance at Sharron Macready. She was his best friend, and on one very memorable occasion, his lover. She was one of only two people he would ever call friend. Craig Stirling was the other and he was the cause of their suffering right now.

Sharron's face was pale, almost deathly white. He could see her shiver and he knew it wasn't from the cold for, despite it being the middle of March, they were in a café/bar and it was warm and cosy and filled with the scents of rich roasting coffee and hot food. But Sharron looked as though she had been standing in the bitter wind for hours.

She was bearing the brunt of it this time. That was the weird part. This gift they had been given, increased mental and physical strength, the limited power to heal themselves, and all of their senses enhanced to the point where they could whisper a conversation across a crowded room and see beyond the normal range of vision. And they found they now had telepathy too. Limited yes, but enough to be able to converse with one another from any distance and to know what each of them was thinking or feeling at almost any given moment and be able to respond to it. And it was this that made them a team. It forged a bond of friendship so strong that the three of them acted and thought almost as one. It created an intimacy that went beyond any sexual intimacy, puzzling their friends and colleagues, and often Sharron's parents who could never understand why their daughter, obviously over the death of her husband, couldn't choose between the two handsome men who always seemed to be at her side.

"Because they're my best friends Mother! How could I choose between them?" Sharron would stare at her mother. "I love both of them. Equally."

"I just think it's a bit strange dear. I mean you can't be in love with two men. It's not right."

"I'm not _in love_ with them, I just love them as friends," Sharron would sigh. It was a conversation that took place every time she visited her parents, the epitome of suburban innocence, or blindness. There was no point in trying to explain, for how could she possibly ever explain the chain of events that had linked her to these two men that she loved so dearly? Her life was different since the crash. She was another person living another life now. Once she would probably not have given either of them a second glance. She'd given up on love and life when her husband had been killed a mere two years and four months into their marriage, and she had grieved for him and vowed she would never love again, and she'd buried herself in her work - medicine first - and then later bacteriology, or buglogy as Craig called it, intending to escape from the world and the pain it had caused.

And then Tremayne, her boss at Nemesis had asked her to go on a mission into China and he'd teamed her up with two other agents - an American and another Englishman. She'd never met them before and was so nervous and afraid she would fail and that they would ridicule her that she almost refused to go. But in the end she had gone, and she was an amateur in between two professionals but they'd helped her and advised her, and Richard had joked with her, and their mission had been a success right up until their plane had crashed in Tibet.

They should have died that day, maybe they did die, but a miracle had occurred, and they'd been given this wonderful gift and they'd returned home, their lives changed and linked forever. How could she tell her parents that?

* * *

But it was a gift they could never control. Both of them knew Craig was in danger and, while Richard could feel his pain too, it was Sharron who was taking the worst of every blow as though it were her own body that was being struck so unmercifully.

"We have to do something!" She gasped, the horror of it surfacing in her eyes. What they were doing to Craig was unbearable. "Richard they're...."

"Not here Sharron," he cautioned. "Too many eyes and ears about. Let's go." He left his drink unfinished and took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She leaned into him, the moan escaping her lips as they headed out into the afternoon sun.

She just about made it to the car and collapsed into it. "Can you drive?" she asked. "Do you want me to?"

"No. I think I'm okay," he replied, but he wasn't sure. From previous experience he knew that if anything happened to Craig while he was driving he'd lose control and they'd crash. But Sharron understood. She nodded to him - an unspoken agreement to channel Craig's pain into her and protect Richard from it while he drove.

"Just go," she told him.

Richard cautiously started the engine and Sharron braced herself. If anything was going to happen she would try to bear it all. To keep them on the road until they got home.

* * *

"No. Not again." Craig Stirling groaned and fought to remain conscious as the guards dragged him back into the interrogation room. They threw him down on the floor, one of them aiming a kick at his groin as he lay there. Craig gasped as the white-hot pain engulfed him. He doubled up on his side, feeling the metal of the handcuffs biting into his wrists and he lay there, waiting for it to start all over again.

It didn't take long. Two of them pulled him to his feet and stood back, guarding the door, hands on their side arms, just waiting for him to try and make a run for it. Yeah, like he could!

"You American pig!" The interrogator spat, and backhanded him across the face. "You come here and you spy on us!"

This time he used his fists and Craig felt his lip split for the second, or maybe the third time. He'd lost count. One eye was already swollen shut and he had a feeling his left cheekbone was cracked. And his ribs. Oh boy, they were a whole different source of pain altogether. Something to take his mind off all the other places he hurt! Like his kidneys, his back, his balls, his legs and just about every part of him. _Every _part of him, if he was honest with himself

"No," he replied. "No."

"You lie!" The interrogator, a little man, with greasy black hair, bad breath and of course a Saddam moustache - it must be mandatory, Craig thought - grabbed his hair and shoved his head down towards the table, where his open passport and his Nemesis ID lay in front of him. The passport told them he was an American and this was all they were interested in because they ignored the Nemesis ID card - probably not understanding it. But the passport didn't mention anything about him being a spy, although this was probably what the idiot meant. Another punch to his kidneys brought home the point.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I'm an American. You are good. I am so impressed." The sarcasm was lost somewhere. "Hey? Now that we've cleared up that little point can I go?"

"Where you from?" The other one asked - his command of English not so good. This one had, up until now, stood back and watched.

"I've already said where I'm from. America. Y'know - the good old US of A."

That is not the correct response you idiot, Craig told himself, as the second interrogator kicked his legs from under him and he fell with a thud, his shoulder and cracked ribs landing on the hard surface, knocking the breath out of him.

"Where are you from?â" They demanded. It seemed important to them.

Maybe they'll stop if I tell them? Not likely, but what the hell --- "New York. The Big Apple."

"We destroyed your Big Apple. We blew it up." The first one proudly reminded him.

Craig just looked at him for a long time. A couple of months after 9/11 he went back to New York and visited Ground Zero, standing silently like everyone else, staring at the rubble and the dust. He hadn't known anyone there. He'd left America and New York a long, long time ago when he joined Nemesis. He lived in Geneva but New York had been his home and when he asked for time off to go there Tremayne hadn't hesitated. Richard and Sharron went with him as far as the airport and wished him well as he flew away, knowing it was not their place, or their loss, and that he had to do it alone. They were waiting for him when he came back home and that had been good.

* * *

Craig's brown eyes stared into the equally brown eyes of his enemy and both of them saw the hatred in the other. Craig's face grew hard and his voice was like ice.

"No you didn't destroy it," he told him. "You might have blown a little hole in it but you didn't destroy it!" He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and waited for them to start.

* * *

Four days ago he had been skiing with a pretty Swiss lady whose name he couldn't remember now but whose face and enthusiastic lovemaking had left him weak at the knees. He had planned on spending a whole lot of evenings with her but then he got the call to come to Iraq. If only he'd switched off his mobile phone, Tremayne would never have gotten a hold of him and cancelled his leave.

"I need you to escort four weapons inspectors into Iraq, Craig." Tremayne had asked him.

"Me?" Craig responded, surprised at the idea. "I mean - me as in us - Nemesis? Doesn't the UN normally do this themselves?"

It wasn't really his job. Nemesis was neither political nor militaristic. Steadfastly remaining neutral, despite the pressures put on them every so often, and it was their very neutrality that allowed them to cross borders and operate with a freedom unknown to any other Government agency. Most borders, that is. Iraq wasn't one of them.

"Normally yes, but this time they want to inspect an area that so far has been out of bounds and recent intelligence combined with satellite imagery suggests a possible WMD factory."

"Biological or chemical weapons?" Craig asked. Not that it mattered really, he was just playing for time in the hope that Tremayne would change his mind or he'd think up a plausible excuse not to go.

"I have no idea," Tremayne was beginning to sound impatient "Look, all I need you to do get them in there, check the premises and get them safely back."

"That's all?!" Craig kicked himself.

"Yes Craig, that's all." A warning tone crept into his voice and Craig knew it was time to just shut up and do as he was told. He listened as Tremayne gave him the details, reminding him that he was in no way permitted to take an active role in the inspection but to remain nearby acting only as their travel guide and bodyguard.

"Don't suppose any of them are women, brunette, late twenties?" Craig asked hopefully but Tremayne had hung up on him.

* * *

So he'd said goodbye to the pretty Swiss lady, who'd pouted for all of five minutes and was already eyeing up someone else before he'd even finished packing, left a message for Sharron and Richard, apologising for not being able to meet up with them and then with a grin, left instructions to the bar manager that - Mr. Barrett would be arriving tomorrow and would be paying his bar tab!

* * *

"We will blow up all your cities, not just your New York!" The interrogator promised him, but before he did so he was going to beat this American spy to death. Craig closed his eyes as they moved in on him and tried to block out the pain, and he wished he were back on the slopes. Or anywhere but here. Anywhere! Then mercifully he passed out again.

* * *

They threw him back into his cell and for about an hour he lay where he'd landed. Then gradually he began to come to. I've survived, he thought allowing his heart a moment to celebrate the small victory. It didn't last long as he lay there thinking about his situation. The worst part wasn't the pain or the humiliation. They'd used just about everything on him and he could tell they were impressed by his strength and stamina. They'd expected him to be dead by now and it was becoming a bit of a challenge to see who could finally finish him off. They were probably taking bets on it, if Muslims were allowed to bet, that is.

The beatings, the rape - oh yes the rape, or don't you mean the rapes? Don't forget about that!No, not going there! His mind was trying to block out that part more than any other part of this whole mess - the torture, the electric shocks, the freezing water and the stinking food. He could take all of that and more. It was the reason he was able to withstand it all that was quietly breaking him - Richard and Sharron. They were suffering too. He knew it just as he knew practically their every thought and action. This gift they were given on that fateful day their plane had crashed in Tibet and they were all but dead - in all likelihood they were dead - until they'd been found by an old man from a lost civilisation high up in the mountains - a city and a race of people that had remained hidden and existed parallel to our own civilisation for many, many centuries. His people had taken them in - healed their bodies and then improved them in some way so that now, not only were they stronger both mentally and physically, but the three of them were linked telepathically by a mental chain so strong that nothing, it seemed, could ever break it. Was it another step up the evolutionary ladder? Craig wondered.

But while most of this gift was a blessing on this occasion he could have done without it for every blow, every kick, every penetration, and every electric shock that went through and into his body went into Richard and Sharron. They were absorbing some of it now. It had probably been only a few seconds after the first beating when they realised he was in serious trouble. And with what they had, what all three of them had been given by that old man in Tibet, they were taking as much of it away from him as they could. It was this knowledge that was slowly killing him - knowing that they knew and felt everything that was being done to him.

_ I'm sorry sweetheart _he whispered under his breath, calling her sweetheart the way Richard did, and praying she would sense this across the distances between them and pick up on it and forgive him for the pain he was causing her. He hoped she would be okay. He also hoped that wherever Richard was, he wasn't driving right now because the rest of the guards had just walked in and round two, or was it three, was just about to start.

* * *

Richard parked the car just outside the apartment as another blow hit him in the stomach. He slumped over the steering wheel in agony, trying to catch his breath. Beside him Sharron, in even worse pain, reached for his hand, gripping it tightly.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," Richard said, echoing Craig's words and squeezing her hand.

"We are going to have to do something!" She said.

"I know. I know. We will, I promise. Just . . . let's . . .get . . . inside first. . ."

Sharron's hands were shaking and she could barely get the door opened and get inside. Home. Safety. Warmth. Familiar comforting things, all part and parcel of the home and the life she shared with these two men. There was the living room and the couch she curled up in, and at night often alone, she would stare out the window at Lake Geneva and she'd marvel at how her life had turned out. There was the TV and the computer, and all the normal everyday things of life - hers, Richards and Craig's.

_ Oh Craig _she whispered, reaching out for him but he didn't reply. The pain had faded now, leaving only a blackness that was worse than the pain.

There was the kitchen where Richard would cook for them, he was the best, and the bedroom where she and Richard had made love one night when they'd both had a little too much to drink, then had spent days afterwards embarrassed and hardly able to be in the same room together. Both of them had realised the next morning that while it had been good it had been a mistake. He'd been her first in so many long years. The only other had been her husband, long since dead. She'd felt so ashamed. And Richard acted the same way too, and they'd avoided speaking of it, and to each other, until Craig finally made a joke of it. He'd known that night that they were making love. He hadn't been there. He'd been in Germany, fast asleep in a Munich hotel room. But he had dreamt it.

"So you two did the dirty? Big deal." He grinned at them. "The three of us are so closely linked now I might as well have been there too. Not that I wanted to be!" He laughed and that broke the tension and everything was okay between her and Richard again.

And then one night shortly after that she found herself in Craig's arms when they were on a mission in France and the only lodgings they could find for the night had been a cold, draughty single room. Craig, always the gentleman, well mostly always, had offered to sleep in the bathtub. But there wasn't a bathtub, just a shower.

"Oh get in," she said and patted the side of the bed. She had undressed down to her bra and pants and something told him she was not going to go any further. Nor was he, but that didn't stop him from trying.

Wearing only his boxer shorts and what he hoped was his sexiest grin he got in beside her. She shook her head and moved away from him. Undaunted, he moved closer to her.

"I only want a cuddle?"

"No."

"Aw, come on. You did it with Richard," he reminded her.

"Craig!"

"Please," he tried one last time.

"I said no!" She meant it and he moved back to his own side of the bed and for about an hour they lay there, afraid to move just in case they accidentally touched, until Sharron sat up and switched on the bedside light. She folded her arms across her chest and looked sternly at him.

"Craig, you are my best friend. I don't want sex with you. I really don't want it with anyone - now." Her eyes grew distant and he knew she was still thinking of her husband, dead so many years but her grief still as strong as though it was only yesterday. "But. . ."

"But what?" Ever hopeful, Craig sat up, leaned on one elbow and smiled at her. Her hair was down around her shoulders and in the soft light it shone - golden and red. She'd never looked more beautiful. He did want her. He'd tried to pretend that he didn't but he did. He loved her after all. She was a part of him. The blood that ran through his veins was the same as hers now â€" whatever had been done to them - this was one of those things. Their blood group was identical, as was Richards. Sometimes their minds were one and their strengths were always equal. Was their DNA altered too? Were they now identical in all ways except on the surface?

She read his mind and smiled at him. _I doubt it. DNA is what makes us. It's what we were born with. If it were changed we would no longer be us. We'd no longer be human. _

_ But are we? _A couple of hundred miles away Richard put down the Times crossword and joined in their mental conversation.

_ Human? Of course we are. Oh, I know we're enhanced and we now share the same blood type, a very unique blood type I might add, but it's because something has been added to it, and has been mixed with it, creating a new type altogether. We're still us. We all still have the same genes our parents gave us. _

_ Yes, but we're more than that now. Doesn't that make us more than human? If it does then there must be changes in our DNA? _

_ Not changed, Richard _Sharron told him. _Just improved. Now finish your crossword and get to sleep. Oh,_ _and theanswer tofifteen down is commodity! _She winked at Craig.

"Thanks for the biology lesson Doc!" Craig spoke aloud, but still he shivered at the thought of it and he couldn't hide what he was thinking from her. This entire situation still frightened him. Even the closeness, the intimacy, and this mental cord that joined them so tightly, binding them to one another forever. It frightened him - she could sense that from him almost as if he was telling her. It frightened her too, but yet it was a relief for it meant she was never alone. It meant she would never be alone. Craig and Richard would always be with her, in her head and in her heart and by her side. She loved them both so much.

"But what?" Craig asked a second time.

"I'm cold and I'd like you to put your arms around me and hold me close to you. Just a cuddle, promise?"

"Okay, I promise." And he pulled her into his arms and she laid her head on his bare chest and his arms held her tightly to him.

"Goodnight Sharron." He softly kissed the top of her head as she snuggled closer. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against his. And he was a perfect gentleman. This time.

* * *

A tear escaped her as she remembered that night and she wished he could be here now with her and she would hold him so tightly and never let him go.

But he was somewhere alone and in a stinking prison, with no rights, no hopes of a trial and only execution to look forward to after they' finished torturing him. They had to find him and bring him home.

"Tea?" Richard interrupted her thoughts, handing her a mug. She smiled. Always tea. It cured all ills in his book. Craig always laughed at the Englishness of it. Sharron took it from him and Richard watched her carefully. She didn't look so pale now, thankfully, but it was only a matter of time before it started again. Or was Craig blocking it in some way? Or was he....? No, he didn't want to believe _that_. Couldn't believe _that_. Sharron caught the tail end of his thought and her eyes grew wide with fear as the meaning registered.

"No. Not dead. He can't be," she said.

"He's not dead. We'd know if he was. There'd be an emptiness....or something...." Richard shook his head, chasing the unwanted stray thought away. "I phoned Tremayne but I couldn't get the hold of him. He's in a meeting." He looked at her, long and hard. "Sharron, we have an appointment with him at three-thirty tomorrow, but..."

"But that is too late!" She said.

"I know love. But we need to find out where he is, where he's being held. Only the boss can tell us that. Craig didn't say he was on a mission. He was supposed to be skiing with Heidi this week and we were going to meet up with him on Saturday, and now that...."

"Marie-Claire," Sharron looked distant.

"What?"

"Her name is Marie-Claire, but he can't remember it. He can see her face, and so can I, but he can't remember her name. It's on the tip of his tongue but he can't remember it," she paused, her head tilted as though listening to someone.

"Sharron?" Richard brought her back.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about Craig. He was....he is....very fond of her."

"Well, knowing how much he liked his latest girlfriend isn't going to help us get him out of an Iraqi hell-hole...." He stopped, eyes growing wide as it dawned on him.

"What?"

"I don't know. Something about an Iraqi... Sharron he's in Iraq! Somewhere in Iraq! Something he asked me to do. Sharron, I'm sure of it!"

"How sure Richard? Sure enough to look for him there? Without telling Tremayne?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Craig lay at peace. Momentary peace only, but it was enough to allow him to regain a little of the strength that he'd lost earlier. His cell was hot, his body ached, and his soul...well his soul was hiding somewhere. It had gone awol.

"Don't," he murmured. "Don't go."

"But I have to," she told him, her dark eyes flashing in the winter sun. "I'll stay one more night, and then I have to get home to my husband."

"No. No. You can't be married." Craig caught her and pulled her close to him. "Tell me you're not married."

"Okay. I'm not married. But I still have to leave in the morning."

"Don't go," he pleaded, but she faded away. "I don't even know your name."

He awoke, looking for her. But it was hot and there was no snow. No skiing. Just this Iraqi hell-hole he was trapped in, he remembered.

_Richard. Sharron _In his mind he called their names. He called for them to help him. _I can't last much longer. Help me._

_

* * *

"He's weak."_

"I know," Richard replied. "Sharron, I can't go to Tremayne. He'll ask questions."

"I know." Sharron imagined the way the conversation would go.

'_Just what makes you think that Craig is in troubleRichard?'_

'_A hunch.' _Richard would reply evasively.

'_A hunch!'_ Tremayne would look at him. '_Another one of your hunches! You get a lot of those don't you? You and Ms MaCready, and Mr. Sterling too.'_

"Then we have to go on our own," she told him, her decision already made and he saw the determination in her eyes. She'd walk through hell and back for Craig. For both of them. He knew he'd do the same. As would Craig for the two of them.

"Yes. I know. I'll make the arrangements."

She was cold despite firing the central heating up to its maximum and she looked around for something to wrap herself in. Craig's sweater - the one she'd given him last Christmas was lying over the back of the chair. She reached for it and put it on, smelling his aftershave as she did so, and she stood at the window and looked into the dark night and watched the rain falling down. She sipped at a glass of whisky and she listened while Richard spoke on the phone and tried to book flights for them and she was dismayed when she heard him ask if there was nothing earlier than the morning. She wanted to go now. At the same time she listened for Craig. But he didn't speak to her.

* * *

It might have been the middle of the night but it could just as easily have been the middle of the day. There was no window and no light of any kind shone underneath or around the door and he couldn't tell whether it was day or night. But it didn't matter. Neither had he any idea how long he'd been there, probably only a day or so. He no longer measured time in days, hours, minutes or seconds. The only measurement was the times when they were here and the times when they weren't. Something instinctual, or years of training, or maybe even his enhanced senses told him to make the most of the times they weren't with him, when there was no pain and no fear, or at least not so much. This was the time to regroup, mentally and physically, to let what it was that was inside of him try and heal his wounds and give him his strength back. This time was too short but he knew he had to make the most of it. He'd got himself into this mess, Richard and Sharron were a million miles away and, while he knew they knew he was in serious trouble, he couldn't count on them to help. He didn't want them to, despite calling for them when the agony and the desperation became too much, but the thought of them risking their lives for him was too much to bear.

-

Since time was mixed up he tried to concentrate instead on the sequence of events. He'd met the inspectors at the airport. This part was still clear and the rest would follow as long as he was able to concentrate. He lay in the dark, breathing slowly and shallowly until he felt calmer. The pain began to find its own level, still agony, but less vicious now and he let it wash over him in gentle waves, turning it around until it was almost a caress, lulling him, calming him, taking him...

_No! Craig don't! _Sharron's voice cut sharply though the pain. She sounded almost angry with him.

_What's wrong? _

_You'll die. If you give in now you'll die Craig. You have to fight it. I can help you. I can heal some of it for you. I'll will keep you going until we can get to you _

He could feel her near him now, seeking entrance to his mind. Knocking on the door.

_No. Please go away Sharron. Please! _he begged her. _I can't let you see... _

_What they did to you? Craig, please listen to me. You'll die ifyou don'tlet me help you. I know what they did to you…. _her voice softened and he could sense she felt all of his pain and humiliation. He felt her hand reach for his, taking it gently. _I know what happened, Craig. But don't think about that now. Please just let me help you _

_No _He tried to push her away.

But she was insistent and he was too weak to stop her. He felt her entering him, darting from one thought to another as she searched inside his mind. Finally she found what she was looking for and he felt her gasp in horror as she witnessed what they had done to him and the damage they had inflicted on his body.

_Oh Craig! _she cried, and her arms were around him and she drew him to her, rocking him gently as he laid his head on her shoulder. Her lips brushed his in the gentlest kiss and her hand touched the back of his neck, stroking softly. Her touch was cool and soothing.

Then he felt it deep inside him, first a heat, a burning heat that he tried to resist, but she was holding him too tightly to let him go. And then he felt the pain beginning to ease as his body began to heal. First his kidneys and liver, the tissue regenerating a thousand times faster than normal. Then the broken bone and cartilage in his ribs began mending and knitting together and he could feel his blood flowing faster and faster as it carried nutrients to those damaged areas, healing and repairing them. Now the two broken fingers that had been crushed by a boot heel, he could open and close his hand again. He tried it a couple of times. It hurt and the fingers were stiff but they worked again. Then his cheekbone and finally the lacerations and bruising that covered his damaged flesh.

He took another breath, a deep one this time, allowing his lungs to fill with air. He relished the lack of pain. There was still a dull ache and none of the bones were fully knitted, but the healing process was well in advance, and even if they beat him again he'd still be stronger. Not whole yet, he was a still a ways from being that, and they could still inflict a whole lot of new damage on him, but he could live with that for the time being.

_The miracles never stop _He smiled into the darkness. _Thank you _

_You're welcome _Sharron slipped away from him.

* * *

"Come on. Take a deep breath sweetheart," Richard was concerned. He'd only nipped out to get a takeaway for them, though neither felt like eating, and he'd only been gone a few minutes. He found her lying on the couch semi-conscious. She looked so pale. "Sharron? Can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes as he crouched down beside her. He put the glass of water to her lips. "Sip this. Slowly."

"Help me to bed," she gasped as she sat up, a wave of dizziness threatening her again. She grabbed for Richard's arm and he helped her up. "So weak." She told him.

"What happened?" Richard asked, knowing the answer as he helped her pull off her sweater, Craig's sweater. "Is Craig okay?"

"Yes." Sharron sighed as she lifted her legs up for Richard to pull off her jeans. She gratefully slipped into bed, and pulled the covers over her head. She was going to sleep here forever, she promised as she closed her eyes, exhaustion overcoming her.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers from her face. "Tell me what happened, Sharron."

"Not now. Craig's alive and healing. I helped him but it's tired me out. Talk later. Need sleep first." She pulled the bedclothes back over her face.

"Right. Okay then. Well, I'll be in my room if you need me," Richard left her alone, carefully closing the door on his way out.

* * *

Craig was skiing again. Racing downhill, the sun shining and the cold wind in his face. He felt strong, powerful, and he had the world in his fingertips, or as much of the world as he cared to have right now. She raced on ahead of him. Then she was out of sight and he was drinking really disgusting coffee from a machine in the airport.

The weapons inspectors differed greatly from the image he'd painted of them. He'd imagined them in white lab coats carrying clipboards. One - no all four - would be women. All of them tall, shapely brunettes and they'd take off their glasses and smile at him and one would ask him to write his phone number on her clipboard and ...

And it hadn't exactly turned out that way, they had all been male, but the fantasy had been fun while waiting at the airport.

"I am Pierre Mauleon." The French guy seemed to be in charge Craig noted as he shook the hand offered to him. "These are my colleagues Mr Hamilton from Canada, Mr Salmand from Belgium and Mr Petersen from Sweden. You need not worry we all speak English."

Craig nodded. "That's good to know but you needn't concern yourself on my account. I speak most European languages fluently. I even know a little Canadian." He smiled and nodded to Hamilton. "So who'll win the Stanley Cup this year?"

The Frenchman and the Swede frowned at him, but he thought he detected a faint smile in the Canadian's face. This guy was younger, seemed fitter and had an edge to him that gave Craig the impression he'd be a good man to have on his side if things went wrong. He looked as though he'd had combat training, his stance and his way of watching the exits, kept his eyes peeled to see who was approaching him, and the fact that he kept his back to the wall told Craig to keep him in mind later if things went wrong in any way for he could be a potential ally. He filed it away for future reference and got on with the introductions.

"I'm Sterling. Craig Sterling. From Nemesis." He couldn't resist the Bond lines and noted again that it was Hamilton who almost laughed out loud, changing it to a cough at the last second. Craig went on, "I'm told I'm to be your travel guide for your trip. I can arrange sightseeing excursions, expeditions and trips to various places of interest."

"Hmmm, yes." The Frenchman looked at him, sizing him up.

Craig realised his attempt at humour was lost on them so he dropped it. "I take it you're aware of the risks involved. Britain and America are on the brink of war with Iraq, over this very subject we're going to be looking into, and that the situation there isn't without potential danger."

"We are aware of the situation Mr Sterling."

"Yeah, but..." Craig frowned. "There's gonna be a war. Possibly within the next few days, a week at least, and it's gonna get pretty hairy there."

This didn't seem to faze them at all. They were secure in the knowledge that the fact that they were UN delegates would safeguard them from all dangers. Like it was some kind of holy shield or something. Goddamm idiots, Craig thought.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, the flight leaves in two hours. Maybe you'd like to have a drink before leaving; it's the last you'll get until you return. And remember guys, no duty free allowed in Baghdad!"

Wishing he could have a drink himself, he left them at the bar and called Richard.

"Nah. Sorry. I had to work."

"Where-ish?" Richard asked, knowing Craig would not say too much.

"Somewhere hot, very hot if you get my drift. Can't say with out a secure line. I'd left my phone switched on last night and Treymane caught me." Craig said.

"Rather you than me," Richard grinned.

"Well, I should be back in a day or two so enjoy the snow and give my love to Sharron."

"Will do. Hey? What's this nonsense about a bar tab?" Richard asked.

"Uh, I'm sorry but I can't hear you properly Richard. There's a lot of background noise. I'll talk to you later. Gotta go. Bye." With a grin he hung up and went to gather up his flock.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They flew to Kuwait City. The flight was uneventful, boring even. Craig sat behind the Four Horsemen as he had nicknamed them - though they had come to find and destroy the weapons of the Apocalypse not use them. He listened to them chatting, then grew bored with the conversations, then watched the stewardesses for a while and then closed his eyes and feigned sleep in order not to be drawn into any conversations. It was a tough job and he'd do it to the best of his ability. He knew the score – knew that it was up to him to protect them, even at risk to his own life, and to see they completed their job and get them home again afterwards.

But the situation in Iraq was not good and it would get worse before it would get better. Since September 11 the world had changed and suspicion was at its highest. War with Iraq was inevitable, anyone could see it, and no matter how many weapons inspectors visited the country, it would still go ahead. Personally he thought this trip was the craziest notion the UN had come up with, but who knew, maybe it would result in an eleventh hour resolution. He didn't think so, but anything was worth a try.

* * *

The air was dry and it was hot in Kuwait City. Much hotter and dryer that Geneva right now - that was one consolation – no pouring rain. UN soldiers met them at the airport, escorted them through Customs and outside and into a waiting transport lorry. This vehicle was to take them to a military camp near the border and there they'd camp until it was dark and safe to cross.

"So, how long have you guys been weapons inspectors? And how exactly do you become a UN weapons inspector?" Craig tried to make conversation.

"We could ask how you became a Nemesis operative, Mr. Sterling?" Mauleon said.

"Point taken." There was no getting through to these guys. Were they all like that, he wondered, even the women? But then something began to bug him. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was something wrong with this whole situation. For a moment he wished Sharron was with him. She could figure people out. It was more than women's intuition, a lot more. Maybe it was something to do with their heightened perceptions, maybe not, but whatever it was Sharron was an expert at it. She could read people like a book and was the best of the three of them at interviewing. With just a few selected almost casual questions she would have gotten them to tell her their life stories. _I sure could use your help kid _he told her.

_Sorry Craig, but I'm having too much fun skiing. You're on your own! _She replied and he bit his lip trying not to grin.

* * *

At ten pm the troop commander joined him. "Lt. Colonel Chris Lawson, Royal Marines. At your service." They shook hands. 

"This is insane," he told Craig.

"Tell me about it," Craig agreed.

"If I tell you now not to go will you accept that it is not in your best interests to go and will you turn back?"

"Well, when you put it like that Colonel, I'd turn back in a heartbeat but there's this man back in Geneva who signs my paycheques and he'd probably shoot me if I did that. And besides, these guys are determined to go - with or without me. So I guess I'm going."

"I can only spare you two men."

"I'm grateful for that, sir."

"Then I wish you well but you know it's not going to change a thing." Lawson told him.

Craig sighed. "I know that."

* * *

They left well before first light towards a border crossing about fifty miles to the west of Basra, a dried out river bed in the middle of nowhere, and a area that had no border control now, although that could change at any minute. Moving in under nightfall would give them a bit of an advantage, at least until it got light, but the very fact that they were in the country constituted an illegal border incursion and if they were captured it could quite possibly escalate the situation, probably going as far as instigating the beginning of military action. It was a tough decision and Craig, with his knowledge and practice at diplomacy – sometimes it pays to just nod in agreement was his rule - tried one last time to advise them not to go. 

"Are you guys sure about this? I mean you could go through the correct channels. Show the Iraqi government the satellite photos and ask again for an explanation. It might work."

He thought he saw something in Hamilton's eyes. Just a look, nothing more, but maybe he was the one who would back down. Craig watched him but the man remained silent.

But it was pointless, they were adamant, and he rolled his eyes at Lawson who just shook his head. It was madness, sheer bloody madness, the man was thinking, and Craig didn't have to be telepathic to figure that out.

* * *

Chris Lawson stopped, knowing the border crossing was as far as he was permitted to go. He was reluctant to allow his two men to go with these civilians, but orders were orders. If it would make a difference he'd be happier about it, but these guys were going on a suicide mission, a pointless one at that. The war was coming there was no doubt about that, and the activities of these few men, their lives, and their possible deaths would not change that fact. A pity, Lawson thought. Sterling was a good man. 

"Good luck old chap," he told the Nemesis agent.

"Thanks." Craig nodded as Lawson patted his shoulder and disappeared into the darkness back to Kuwait and relative safety.

* * *

Craig scanned the horizon. It was still dark but he could see just fine and he searched slowly from left to right. His eyes could make out low hills and an oasis. There was no movement. Out here nothing stirred except them and it was time to make their move before daylight approached. 

Hamilton appeared beside him. The man was more animated now and eager to get on. He was almost itching to move, Craig noticed. He had a map and a compass and was checking his position. It was almost daylight now and they had a long drive in the hot sun.

"It's time to go," he told Craig.

He's no weapons inspector, Craig realised as he watched him. He's Black Ops or the Canadian equivalent. So what is he doing here?

They got into the battered Landcruiser and started their journey. Hamilton sat up front while Craig drove; the others sat in the back along with the two marines and held on to whatever they could find to grab hold of as Craig bumped them along, dodging the potholes on what passed for a side road. They were about thirty kilometres from their destination – a building said to be derelict and abandoned until the intelligence reports had said otherwise. It wasn't even on the map, but then a weapons manufacturing plant would hardly be pinpointed on a map. All they had was a grid reference and a few topographical locations to go on. Hamilton gave the impression he knew where he was going. He seemed to know the road, warning Craig as they came to a particularly bad stretch. "Go off to the left here," he told him. "If you use the sand it'll be less bumpy."

It was nothing more than a track in the dirt but it was more level than the road surface had been and travelling along it was easier.

"Seriously though, how do you become a weapons inspector?" Craig asked again.

"I was in the military first, then I took a degree in engineering, specialising in munitions and then one thing led to the other. You know how it is?" Hamilton told him. "How about you? Nemesis is a far cry from New York but I can still recognise your accent. You've been away a while though?"

"Yeah. Fifteen years. I started in the air force..."

"Flyboy, eh? So do you still fly?"

"Not so much these days. I had a bad crash a few years ago. I almost got myself and two good friends killed. It made me stop and think."

"Yeah. Sometimes something happens and your whole life changes," Hamilton nodded thoughtfully. "So, you went from the air force to – where - what?"

"I bummed around for a while. Spent some time in Canada for a bit then I joined the CIA. I began working in Europe almost immediately and I loved it, Europe that is, and I was only there a few months when Nemesis recruited me. It was an opportunity to live and work in Geneva permanently so I took it."

"And it's worked out fine?"

What the? Craig's eyes narrowed. This guy was interrogating him. Why?

"Yeah. It's worked out fine. Just fine."

Then Hamilton's eyes met his in a don't-mess-with-me and-I-won't-mess-with-you look. What is your problem? Craig thought but said nothing, just gave a 'I'm-only-the-taxi-driver' look back at him.

Despite the outward amicability between the two of them, the camaraderie was forced. Hamilton was either lying or afraid of something. _Hey Richard, I need a favour. Run a background check on ... _

"My name's Craig by the way," he reached out his hand.

"Eric. Pleased to meet ya!" Hamilton returned the handshake.

_Did you get that Richard? Eric Hamilton. Canadian national. UN Weapons Inspectorate. That's all I have. _

_That's enough. But give me an hour or so. _Richard told him, already typing the request and the available details into the computer. _You're moving with the big boys! What are you up to? _

Craig wiped the sweat off his brow and out of his eyes. He looked up at the blazing Iraqi sun.

_You know something Richard, I'm really beginning to wonder about that._

_

* * *

_Craig checked the Landcruiser one last time, making certain it could not been seen from either side of the overhang of rock he had parked it underneath. He'd covered the windscreen in wet dust, Hamilton helping to smear in on, so that the glass wouldn't reflect in the daylight. 

He nodded to himself as he gave it the once over again. It looked okay. It couldn't be seen from any direction, including above, should there be any over-flights of this area, and if it was discovered, in the condition it was in it could have been dumped. That wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny though – the bodywork looked like shit but the engine was in the best of condition because Craig needed it in running order to get them back out. If they got out.

"Okay! Let's get going. We've a long walk ahead of us!" He called to them and they began to walk the last kilometre to their target.

The Royal Marines were already in position, dug into the surrounding area. He was grateful they were there, but if it came down to it, he'd already told them to get the hell back to the border and their camp. He would die if necessary, and if the inspectors died it was their choice, but he was not going to have the deaths of two young marines on his soul. So he'd ordered them to stay and keep an eye on the Landcruiser until it got dark. "And if we're not back by then we won't be coming back," he'd told them. "So as soon as it gets dark I want you guys to high-tail it outta here. Okay?"

They'd nodded in agreement, that's what they'd been ordered to do anyway.

With a final wave to the two soldiers Craig moved forward. His gun was in its holster at his side and he had a small pistol strapped to his ankle. He also carried his knife – one that had been given to him years ago by a young Ghurkha he'd met and worked with and grew to respect very much. The little warrior had it specially made for him – it was smaller than the normal Ghurkha knife – not a warrior's knife, but one for someone who was a friend of the Ghurkhas and one who, with training, could perhaps aspire to be one.

"Thank you," Craig had bowed his head in polite acceptance. The Ghurkha had held the knife, still in its sheath, out to Craig as thought it were a ceremonial offering. It was that, but a lot more besides, it was a victory over a common enemy and a bond of gratitude and friendship.

He had his side arm and his knife and his extra senses and skills, but would they be enough? If they weren't then they were fucked. They'd probably be shot at once. That would be the easy part and he figured that's what would happen to the inspectors. But he was a civilian, and an American, and he'd probably be deemed a spy. They wouldn't go so easy on him.

One of the Marines was a marksman and his sights were trained on the walkers, but he also scanned the area around them. It was their task to remain here; lying in the dirt and giving cover, and waiting to take these people back home again. They didn't ask why. They didn't question the sensibility of it. Personally they thought these guys were nuts and the Yank an even bigger nut for going with them. He was some sort of spy or agent or something and he should bloody well know better. That was their opinion on it and they wished it was over and the war was started so they could kick some Iraqi arses and get back home. They passed a packet of cigarettes from one to the other, lit up and waited. There was nothing else to do.

* * *

The only door was well secured with a heavy-duty padlock. Craig took it in both hands, turned his back to the others and snapped it off with no effort at all. It fell to the ground and he picked it up and turned to them, a look of innocent surprise on his face. 

"They don't make 'em like they used to."

"No they don't," Hamilton agreed.

Craig kicked the padlock away and slowly opened the door. He stood back as they entered and he closed the door behind them. After the blazing heat the dark coldness was a relief and they felt the sweat dry almost instantly on their skin. In no time though, they began to shiver, the difference between the extreme heat and now this cold lowering their body temperature too abruptly. They stood there blindly in the dark waiting for someone to tell them their next move.

"This way. Follow me," Craig told them. "Stay close to this wall and keep together. Eric, can you bring up the rear?"

After a moments hesitation he replied. "Sure."

They walked carefully down the tunnel into the depths of the building. By their angle of descent and the time they'd been walking, Craig estimated they were about twenty metres underground, and the walls were of thick concrete. Could be a munitions factory, he thought. But it's too early to tell yet. They walked on. Craig could easily see where he was going - his eyesight was far superior to theirs - although there wasn't much to see, and they followed him blindly.

The tunnel continued for another few metres then widened into a small room. The ceiling was low and there were two main branches. Eenie, meenie, Craig thought and instantly headed towards the right hand branch.

"What about this one?" Hamilton asked from behind, indicating the left-hand tunnel and already moving towards it.

"Oh sure. Why not?" Craig stopped in his tracks. Either way didn't really matter. His gut told him to go this way but it was obvious Hamilton wanted them to take the other one.

This tunnel led into a large room. Craig could sense the size of it. He reached for the light switch and turned it on, not sure if the power supply was still connected.

It was. The room was large, as he'd suspected, but empty - at least of people, but he'd sensed that anyway so he wasn't expecting a welcome party.

His part was over for the moment and he stood by and watched them as they began their investigation.

The room was large and well-equipped. Rows of consoles and computer equipment were laid out before them, and on the far wall there were maps, mostly of the US but also Europe. Key cities were pinpointed. The consoles themselves held computer and radio equipment; all of it shut off and covered with protective plastic sheeting.

It was an operations room, of that there was no doubt, but it was no longer in use. No one had been here in quite a while and they were in no danger of immediate discovery.

They began to look around and Craig watched them for a while, keeping guard on them, and wishing they would hurry it up so they could get out and get home safely. But they were slow and methodical, photographing the room from every angle, taking close-up shots of the consoles and the maps. Taking notes too.

Except for Hamilton. He was not taking part in the inspection. Instead, he was also watching them and watching Craig watch them. Why? Why not do what he was supposed to be doing? Craig frowned and their eyes met. Hamilton seemed suddenly off guard, almost embarrassed and began to assist Petersen, making notes and nodding in agreement with him.

Okay, I've had enough, Craig made a swift decision. It's time to speed things up a little.

He coughed to get their attention. "I'm gonna check out the other tunnel." He indicated the door they had entered with his thumb. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Just don't break anything!"

Hamilton was the only one who acknowledged him and shaking his head, Craig went to follow his own instincts, leaving his inspectors and Hamilton, who he was now convinced, had an ulterior motive alone to continue their investigation. He left them to it and headed back into the other tunnel, keeping his ears tuned to the sounds of their voices. He could make out their every word. Petersen had been the quietest of the trio but he was more than making up for it now.

As he followed the second tunnel Craig listened to Petersen's disappointed chatter.

"This is not what we're looking for!" Petersen told his colleagues. He sounded distressed. "This is not it! We have been given the wrong information!"

"Do not worry Gunnar, we will keep searching," the little French guy replied.

Craig felt a tingle at the back of his neck as he entered the longer and steeper of the two tunnels. Something's wrong, he thought, as his powers warned him of danger, the cause not clear, but danger nonetheless. He stopped and listened.

_Craig? _The voice was so clear in his head that for a second he thought Richard was behind him. He almost turned around.

_Go ahead Richard. _

_I did your background check on Hamilton. There's not a lot on him except this. Can you read it? _

Richard stared at the printout the he was holding then closed his eyes and concentrated. It took a few minutes of deep concentration until he was satisfied Craig could see in his mind the image he was looking at.

_Are you sure? _Craig was surprised.

_Positive. I'll dig a little deeper, maybe look into the others while I'm at it. Where are you? I'm sensing darkness and a feeling of heaviness. Are you okay? _

_Yeah. I'm okay. I'm underground. In a tunnel. Can't talk now. Busy. But thanks for the info. _

* * *

With the earlier sense of danger momentarily forgotten Craig continued on, still puzzling over what Richard had relayed to him. He had expected something on Hamilton. The man's claim to be a weapons inspector for the UN just didn't ring true. There was a lot more to him than that and now that he had something to go on Craig hoped he would find the whole story before it was too late. He shrugged his shoulders in the darkness and continued searching. 

The corridor widened as he went further along it. This one was newer and looked as though it had been built more recently. The concrete was cleaner and he could make out cables along the ceiling and air-conditioning pipes, and it was in better condition.

The door at the end of the tunnel was made of steel. There was no padlock but the lock itself was strong. Craig glanced back and then put his shoulder against it. He gave it a cursory push. It was solid, maybe too solid, but he took a step back and kicked it hard. It didn't move. He tried again. This time he felt it give a little. The third time the door flew open against his foot. Craig stepped forward.

Instantly his senses warned him that this was different, that they'd found what they were looking for. He didn't need the lights to see that there was a laboratory beyond the second reinforced steel door. Should he kick it open too? Or was the place teeming with people or bio-hazardous materials?

With a flick of his head, a mental heads or tails, he made his mind up and kicked open the second door.

"How many are there for crying out loud?" he said aloud in exasperation as he faced yet another one. But this one wasn't steel, and this one wasn't locked by a key. This one was made from toughened non-transparent glass, probably an inch or so thick. This one was surrounded by a rubber seal and had an electronic key lock. It also had a yellow and back biohazard warning sign on it, and it had Arabic writing on it which Craig quickly translated and read.

"Bingo!" He didn't kick this one in, but turned and went back to the control room.

"Hey guys!" He called to get their attention. They looked up from their photograph-taking and note-making. "I uh – I think I've found what you're looking for."

They looked surprised, and annoyed that he'd disturbed their important work but they left the computer and radio consoles and went to investigate, their inquisitiveness dying as they saw the locked glass door.

Craig stared at the mechanism, concentrating and looking beyond the metal casing and the keypad. He could see inside it. He could see fingerprints on the pads. He closed his eyes and looked for the faintest traces of wear on the numerical pads. Four, seven, one, three; they were worn slightly. He punched in these numbers. The air locked door opened with a hiss.

"Lucky guess," Craig told them with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Remind me to call you for the Grand National winner in April," Hamilton told him with a wry smile.

"Yeah sure I'll do that but, I never win on the horses," Craig replied with a grin.

* * *

Petersen was the first one through the door. Inside, there was a decontamination room where they donned protective suits and masks over their clothing before entering the laboratory. 

Craig stood back and let them get on with it, wishing they would hurry and finish so they could get out of here. He had a bad feeling about this whole situation again but couldn't put his finger on what was wrong.

Hamilton was doing his job at last, taking samples and recording his findings in his notebook. Anthrax, Marburg, West Nile, Ebola – it was all here and more. Then Petersen found warheads and everything they'd suspected was confirmed. The team began to photograph and document their findings and Craig stood back and let them get on with their work.

He glanced around the lab, taking it all in with a quick scan of his eyes from left to right. The vials sitting in benches, glass jars with the names of the various chemicals and biological agents, the warheads ready to be assembled, the equipment and the lack of... lack of what? Suddenly he realised that it had all been too easy. This wasn't a laboratory. No chemicals had been mixed here. No viral agents had been cultured and grown here.

All the carefully laid out notebooks, the cultures with the names of deadly diseases written on them, the test tubes and Petri dishes, the storage containers for inside the warheads were set out for them to find...

This was more like a set, like a stage. It was a carefully staged mock-up, he realised with a sinking feeling. Then he noticed that Hamilton was frowning and figured the man had just realised the same thing, but no, Hamilton was frowning at Petersen. Craig followed his gaze and studied Peterson carefully. The man had no need to look around, take photograph and notes for he already knew what was in this room! It seemed as though both of them did.

Craig stepped forward to challenge them but then an almost animal-like awareness caught him. He felt, and recognised, the familiar tingling sensation of danger. It made him stop and he tensed and turned back towards the door.

The barrel of a gun appeared in his face, inches from his nose. He froze.Three Iraqi soldiers stood in front of him. Two more appeared behind him. He could sense their presence.

Craig slowly, carefully went for his gun, but there was no point, he knew it, and they knew it. A rifle butt hit him across the back of his head and he went down. He lay there dazed but not quite unconscious yet. He tried to rise up and he was struck again, harder this time, and the light faded completely and he allowed the darkness to engulf him.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Craig groaned and slowly opened his eyes. It was dark, it was hot, he was lying on a cot in a cell somewhere near Basra on the eve of a war, and his head ached. Okay, it wasn't a great situation to be in but he'd been in much worse. He'd died in the snows of Tibet and was saved and healed by an old guy in an orange robe. He'd been shot and thrown out of a plane into the Caribbean. He'd almost frozen to death in the Antarctic, and he'd survived all that, and so much more. A little headache and an Iraqi cell was a piece of cake. Wasn't it?

"Sure. A piece of cake," he convinced himself as he carefully got up off the cot. His head hurt a little but it was nothing he couldn't handle. It was beginning to clear already so he began to look around the cell.

It was about twelve feet by six. There wasn't a window. There was no air-conditioning either, Craig noted wryly, but the door didn't look all that strong to him. He probably could break it without too much effort. It was the two armed guards on the other side who were a problem and a hindrance to any escape plan. And he was handcuffed, although he could get those off easily enough.

He remembered what had occurred in the so-called laboratory. Oh yeah and the dust! He remembered that had been his last thought before he'd sensed the soldiers. Everything was covered in dust. It had been closed up for a while.

He wondered where the others were. They were probably in nearby cells, or maybe even dead by now. Except for Petersen maybe. He hadn't been surprised by either the lab or the soldiers, in fact he acted as though he'd expected to find the lab and be captured by the soldiers. He was up to something - that much was obvious. Had the man set them up? If so, why? If the lab had been a set up how had Petersen known about it, and what was his motive?

I would really like to talk to you for a few minutes, Petersen. Craig said to himself, kicking himself for not getting Richard to check all of them instead of just Hamilton. Hamilton must have suspected something too, he realised.

But right now all of that was moot because he could hear footsteps coming along the corridor outside. They stopped outside his cell, there were two of them, and so along with the two already outside the door, he would be too well guarded to make a run for it.

He heard the key unlocking the door. Oh boy, here goes, Craig took a deep breath as they came for him.

* * *

So, in the short space of a few days he'd gone from having fun in the Alps to this. To this pain, humiliation, and fear. They'd beaten him, tortured him, and starved him, and all the rest in between. But for what? He'd told them what he knew, which consisted of next to nothing. He'd no idea what had happened to the others. He assumed they were dead, or if they were alive then they were in the same situation that he was in. Of course they wouldn't have lasted this long, they'd have succumbed to their injuries by now, like him they would have faced these really pissed off guards who delighted in taking their anger out on their prisoners. His so-called interrogation was only an excuse to beat the crap out of him. Which they'd been doing so fairly well up to know, he remarked cynically, as they seemed to have it down to a fine art. Plenty of practice, he guessed

He had no doubt the others were dead, including Hamilton who could have been an ally and Craig closed his eyes and for a moment wished that he too could just give up. It would be so easy to just slip away, to let it all go...

_No! _

_But I'm tired _he told her. _I just want this to end _

_Don't give up, please _

But he closed his eyes anyway, needing the rest, needing to ease his aching body. He closed his eyes and thought of Marie and the fun she'd been. He could almost touch her.

"I have to go" she told him.

"Don't go," he told her. "Stay with me a while longer."

But she blew him a kiss and walked out the door.

* * *

The door opened and, despite the pain, Craig sat up. She's back, he thought with a faint smile. I knew she'd come back.

But something was wrong. Everything was wrong. It was dark and he was wide-awake, his keen eyesight adjusting to the darkness. He was back in his cell lying on the cot, his wounds still healing.

Then they entered. Two of them – the same pair who'd come in earlier - the two who had no interest in beating him. They wanted something else. Something much worse. Compared to this, the beatings were easy.

"No!" He tried to get away from them, tried to make a run for it but he was still too weak from the beating earlier. They grabbed him and hauled him back from the door and turned him over onto his stomach.

* * *

Richard gasped and Sharron reached for his hand. "Yes. I know what they're doing to him," she told him squeezing his hand.

"He's – they're. . . . Sharron. . . ."

"I know what they're doing to him Richard! As if what they've already done to him isn't enough, they're doing this!" Tears filled her eyes and Richard reached for her, his arms surrounding her. She held him close as if by doing so she could protect Craig.

* * *

Geneva. 0120hrs. March 19th 2003.

Richard sipped at his second glass of scotch, swirling the ice around in the glass. He flicked through the news channels. Every programme told him the same thing. War was imminent. CNN, SKY News, and BBC News 24, all of them were the same. He flicked from one channel to the other and back again, catching snippets of the main feature – the impending war with Iraq. And Craig was stuck there somewhere.

The telephone rang and he reached for it, but it stopped just as his hand touched the receiver. Sharron had already answered it in the bedroom. He'd left her earlier in a fitful sleep and, unable to sleep himself, got comfortable on the sofa with a glass of whiskey and the remote for the television. He watched the news channels but he couldn't concentrate. There had been only silence from Craig for the past couple of hours. He was still alive, that much they were sure of, but his condition was steadily deteriorating and for the past hour he'd been unconscious, or hopefully just sleeping. Either way they had no contact and in many ways this was worse.

He hit the mute button on the remote and listened to Sharron's voice. She was talking to Tremayne. She knew he was listening in and, with the phone tucked on her shoulder and putting on a dressing gown, she came into the room and sat down beside him.

"Yes sir." She replied to something he'd said. "We can be ready first thing in the morning."

For the first time that day Richard saw life in her eyes. It concerned Craig and he began to listen in to Tremayne's part of the conversation.

"I know the situation is not good there, Sharron, and I don't want you or Richard taking unnecessary risks on Sterling's behalf, although you'll probably do so anyway. What is important is getting them out."

"Understood Sir," Sharron answered setting the phone down and reaching for Richard's drink. She took a small mouthful and handed it back.

"We leave for Kuwait in the morning, thank God," she told him, relief flooding her face.

"Then we should probably try and get some sleep."

Sharron shook her head. "No. I can't sleep. I dozed a bit but I couldn't get over properly. I'm going to sit here and watch the news. You go if you want."

But he didn't, and they sat, huddled together watching the television and waiting for the morning and whatever it would bring.

* * *

Iraq

This time they broke his arm. They weren't interested in what he had to say any more. There was anger in their actions now, something had pissed them off even more than they had been, and they vented this anger out on him. Craig fell to the ground, the pain white hot, as the heavy bar slammed into his forearm. He felt the bone break but didn't have time to even wonder why they'd changed their tactics as the metal bar struck again and again causing more damage. But even that wasn't enough and they began to kick him as he lay there. He curled up in a ball, trying to protect himself – his head and his arm mainly – but it was impossible to escape every vicious boot. They spat on him too, in between kicks until either their anger died, or they became tired and they just stopped and left him.

Craig lay there, holding his breath, expecting them to return, waiting for them to return, but minutes passed and the door remained closed and he gradually allowed himself to breath again. The pain in his arm was the worst yet and he couldn't move from the floor. He tried, but slipped into blessed unconsciousness instead.

* * *

A cold dread filled Richard's heart. Sharron was beside him, lying on the couch, asleep with her head resting on his leg. She'd finally closed her eyes about an hour ago and he'd pulled a rug over her shoulders and stroked her hair gently as she slept. Now her eyelids fluttered and she stirred.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting upright and reaching for his hand.

Richard looked at her, his face white. "Sharron. Sweetheart. I'm not sure but I – I think he's gone."

"No," Sharron shook her head slowly. "He can't be dead."

"I don't feel anything anymore. I did up until a couple of minutes ago, then nothing. Try yourself. You are better at it than me."

Sharron closed her eyes and let her mind search the terrible darkness for him. Her thoughts reached out, probing, seeking and needing the contact that was always there. But she couldn't find it and her search grew more frantic. _Craig _she called for him. _Craig _.

There was still only darkness, a deep, empty darkness and she began to fear that Richard was correct and that Craig had somehow slipped away from them and was now dead. Grief captured her, disturbing her search, and she tried to push it away. She wouldn't allow it into her mind. She was not ready yet to grieve for him. She would never be ready to grieve for him.

Then somewhere, suddenly she thought she felt him. She couldn't be sure and she called his name again. There. Was that him? It was only the tiniest spark – a faint heartbeat and a painful loneliness that she couldn't trust. Was that him or just her? She called him again and this time he answered.

* * *

Iraq.

_Hold on Craig _a voice told him from somewhere and he cursed it. It was his guards. They were tormenting him again. Taunting him with hope, something he'd lost now. They were showing it to him, telling him about it, and then just as he reached for it, they yanked it away from him. They'd told him he was to be executed in the morning. Were they just saying that? A part of him wanted it, wanted it all to end, because he couldn't take any more.

But a part of him also wanted to live. Years ago in Tibet, he'd been given a second chance at life. He'd grabbed at it and taken it and used it to the full, ever thankful for it and always aware that it was special and not to be wasted. But now he was ready to throw it all away. The pain was too much and the thought of it continuing was beyond even his capabilities. And Sharron and Richard, too. He was causing them pain and more than anything he wanted that to stop.

_Hold on Craig _the voice was persistent. Damm them!

"Leave me alone," he told them, his voice barely a whisper, thirst and pain battling to diminishing even his power to speak aloud.

_I can't. I miss you. Don't leave me Craig. Don't leave us yet. Richard and I need you ._

_Sharron? Where are you? Help me _

_We will Craig. Just hold on and we'll be there. I promise _the voice told him. But could he trust this voice, or was it them deceiving him again? Unsure, he turned away from it - denying the one certain thing that had been in his life, because he could no longer trust it.

* * *

"He's alive, but only just," Sharron said. She looked at her watch. Five forty-five. Too early to go to the airport, their flight wasn't until eleven. Then a journey from Kuwait City to the Iraqi border by truck and then a covert hike, probably the same route that Craig had taken, but this time it would be through a war zone. Still, she'd do it without a second thought.

"I'm going to take a shower Richard. I know it's early but I can't sleep. I have to do something."

"Yes. You go and have a shower, love," Richard told her, giving her one last hug. "I'll make us some breakfast."

* * *

To be continued. 


	5. Chapter 5 part 2 Rescuing Craig

Chapter 5

Part 2

Rescuing Craig.

Sharron tied her hair back and covered her face as the storm swept the sand all around her, but she couldn't stop the stuff getting everywhere. They were at the border, in the distance she could hear artillery fire, and that was where they were going - towards Basra. To where the worst of the fighting was taking place and where Craig was being held. She wasn't afraid; she just wanted to get on with it. This hanging around was the worst part.

"We'll be moving soon," Richard told her, also impatient to get going.

"I know," she told him with a smile. She looked better, despite the sand in her hair and the dust in her eyes, that was making them red and itchy. Once they'd left Geneva her despair seemed to lift, even though they both knew Craig's situation was very grave and that he had so little time left. At least now they were on the move and they were going to try and help him, but she couldn't help being impatient.

The UN truck had left them at the border and the same Marine Company that had collected Craig and his inspectors were waiting for them. They looked tired, shocked and frightened, despite their show of bravado. They had seen some serious fighting in the past few hours and it had been as bad as they'd expected.

But despite all of this their eyes were on Sharron. She looked good in desert camouflage combat pants and shirt. Richard watched them watching her.

_You could be their pin-up _

_I could, couldn't I? Should I pose for a few photos? Where will I get a bikini around here? _

_Don't get big-headed Macready _

They carried on this light-hearted conversation unknown to the troops that sat in the truck with them. A couple of them noticed Sharron smiling, and wondered what she was thinking about. They didn't know she was only smiling on the surface and at the light-hearted, telepathic conversation that bounced back and forth between Richard and her. At the same time both of them were thinking of Craig. Richard was wondering how they would find him without getting caught themselves. Sharron was thinking about his injuries and what treatment he would need if – no - when they found him.

Sharron is more confident now, Richard thought as their conversation died down and she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the side of the truck. He knew she was thinking about Craig, probably calling for him, but her face looked relaxed, less worried now. One thing about Sharron was that she couldn't sit still well. Not doing something was almost impossible for her, and it was the hanging about not knowing that had taken its toll on her. Yesterday and all last night she'd looked terrible. She'd looked about ten years older with her face pale and worried, her eyes nervous and teary, and her brows drawn into a frown until Treymane had called with their mission and flight details and the change in her had been instant.

He didn't enjoy sitting around doing nothing either, Richard admitted to himself, but like Craig, he didn't let it show so much. In fact Craig was the most easy-going of the three of them and was an expert at hanging around airports or hotels. He could close his eyes and stretch out on a seat and well - close his eyes and stretch out.

"Are you sleeping?" they would ask.

"Nope, just waiting," he would reply and then a few minutes later, much to their amusement he would begin to snore lightly. Richard hoped, but very much doubted, he was doing that now.

Sharron was leaning back with her eyes closed and her legs stretched out and an almost peaceful expression on her face and he was the one doing all the worrying now.

* * *

The sound of artillery fire seemed to be getting louder, or was he just regaining consciousness? Craig had no way of telling, nor had he any idea how long he'd been out. His arm was numb, that was a blessing, but it was useless. He had managed to get himself up off the floor, holding his arm across his chest and trying, unsuccessfully, not to jar it as he moved. But the razor-sharp fragments of pain cleared his head a little and he came wide awake, his senses alert again and he stood at the door and listened.

There was activity nearby. A lot of frantic activity, he remarked as he heard the sounds and voices of his guards, barking orders, yelling at people and cursing. So the war's begun.

It seemed such a casual thought as if it were nothing more significant than a game, a power play, and maybe when it came down to it what's all it was. But either way it had begun, and he was right there in the middle of it.

Not a great place to be all things considered, but at the same time this could mean a way out.

He stood for a few seconds and listened, concentrating on the faraway, but probably much nearer than it seemed, sounds of gunfire and shelling. Basra? Were the Coalition forces attacking Basra? He couldn't be sure. Then he sensed something else. Richard. Nearby? No, that wasn't possible. He was just hoping. But then he sensed Sharron too. They're here, he realised with a faint trace of a smile. Now he had some kind of hope and, more importantly, a reason to get up and fight back. But he still couldn't rely on them. Couldn't assume they were nearby and in a position to help him yet. For the moment he was still on his own, but just not as alone as he had been and maybe this could be his lucky break. The guards were distracted and while their attention was diverted away from him just maybe it would work.

Then the building was rocked by an explosion. Craig flung himself to the floor as the heavy wooden door came crashing down on top of him, thankfully protecting him from the rubble but burying him underneath it. Oh shit, he thought and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sharron's eyes widened as she heard the explosions and felt the ground rock beneath her. Then she saw an image of Craig lying under a door.

_Is he okay? _Richard looked at her.

_Yes, I think so _

_Yeah, I'm okay _Craig told them bringing a wave of relief to both of them.

Colonel Lawson was still talking and they concentrated on what he was telling them. "……..so we think they are being held here. Somewhere in this area," he indicated the map, pointing to the place where the Marines had left them a few days earlier. "But the problem is we can't get to them. My men have met fierce resistance here, and here. We've tried shelling them, and they shell us back – just like now," he nodded. "Yes, that was them. The problem is they're also hitting your man's buildings in retaliation so we're going in with the big stuff tonight but until we can clear this up we can't move."

"Chris, how sure are you that they're being held in this area?" Sharron asked as Richard went to check his email.

Lawson smiled at her, all the while thinking how lovely she looked. He pointed to the map again. "There's been a lot of activity here, at these two buildings. Sterling's route was in this direction and I believe that's where they were going – a few kilometres west of this small village here, and I believe that is where they are now being held. A flyover yesterday morning showed us that there were several guards surrounding one of the buildings in the village but there has been little or no movement to and from it. Heat-seeking equipment has shown at least four warm bodies inside the building, all in separate areas – cells probably - so we're fairly certain they've been held there, interrogated and are now being kept as hostages. UN personnel and your man will make ideal hostages should things go wrong."

"Only four? There were five of them."

"Yes, I know Sharron. I'm sorry but we're only picking up imagery of four bodies. One is certainly dead but we don't know which one. I hope it isn't your friend." Lawson told her, wondering how much Sterling meant to her. A great deal, he realised sadly.

"Bingo!" Richard interrupted them as he finished reading the printout from Nemesis. He handed it over to Sharron allowing her to quickly read it.

"So they were set up," Sharron frowned.

"It would seem that way," Richard agreed.

* * *

It must have been the fact that Richard and Sharron were in close proximity to him but Craig could feel some of his strength beginning to return. He was able to throw off the door and rise to his feet. He was still shaky and his arm hurt like hell, so did the rest of him, but he could stand up and if he could do that then he could walk and if he could walk then he could walk out of this dump. Or this pile of rubble that it had now become, thanks to some neat nearby shelling.

He found the rest of his clothes and his belt and managed to strap his arm to his side. That would hold it in place and keep the pain to a minimum, he hoped.

He could sense them close by and the comfort that it gave him was unimaginable – just knowing they were there brought strength and resilience. He closed his eyes for a moment; his head tilting upwards letting their nearness wash over him, like cool, sweet rain on his face. He felt calm, in a state of peacefulness, but then he shook his head and opened his eyes. He couldn't afford that luxury right now. It wasn't a matter of just sitting down and waiting for them. There was a lot of activity nearby. He could hear the gunfire and he figured they'd be on the other side of it and not in any position to come to him at this stage.

Besides, there was something he had to do first.

He carefully checked the corridor. There was no one in sight. He found the room they had dragged him into and where they'd interrogated him. That was back when they thought he had something useful to tell them and before he became someone to practice beating up on. He located his passport, ID card, and best of all his weapons. He checked the gun was still loaded and tucked it and the knife into his trousers. The documents he placed in his back pocket. He was very thirsty and searched around for a bottle of water, found one but it was empty and he threw it into the corner out of sight. He could have used a drink as he hadn't been given anything to eat or drink since yesterday afternoon, but I can manage he told himself as a wave of dizziness came over him and he leaned against the wall until it passed. Yeah, I can manage – just about.

* * *

"We're expecting a bombing run in the next hour or so. That should get rid of these pesky snipers." Lawson informed them.

"Isn't that a bit risky?" Richard was concerned. "If Craig and the inspectors are nearby we could hit them by mistake."

"Chris has already explained it Richard," Sharron told him. "They'll move in from behind, hit the area where the snipers are – just here," she pointed to the place on the map. "And then his men will move in and clear out any that are left. Then they'll take us in – to Craig."

"So, until that happens we wait?" Richard asked.

"Yes, we wait."

"Actually, we'll have something to eat," Lawson told them.

* * *

Craig slowly and painfully began a systematic search of what remained of the building. He'd found Salmand and Mauleon both dead. Mauleon recently dead judging by his still-warm body, and he didn't expect to find Petersen or Hamilton alive but he continued searching anyway. He tried a few more rooms, carefully opening each door and peering in.

Hamilton stood up and stepped back from the door, not knowing at first who it was. He gave a sigh and relaxed when he realised it was Sterling. The look of relief on his face slipped when Craig pulled out his gun and pointed it at him. He was a mess but his injuries were obviously only superficial and there was no sense in taking any chances.

"I see they worked you over too," Hamilton remarked.

"Yeah well, it makes me feel just a wee bit better knowing you didn't get away unhurt."

"Craig, I'm not the one you're after. It's Petersen."

Craig's eyes narrowed. "Oh I know that now. But you knew and you should have told me!"

"Yeah you're right... I should have told you."

"It tastes like muck I know, but would you like some more coffee Sharron?" Colonel Lawson asked.

"Thank you Chris," she handed him the mug and he filled it for her, allowing his hand to briefly touch hers as he gave it back.

* * *

Richard watched her, a mischievous expression on his face which she did her best to ignore. Okay, I'm out of here, he decided and left them to it. It had been obvious to him right from the moment Lawson had introduced himself that there was a definite chemistry between him and Sharron. Even though she hadn't noticed it, he couldn't help but see it and he smiled at her naivety. The man's practically in love with you already Macready! Go for it girl, you deserve it, he thought but he'd no intention of telling her that. He knew her well enough to know that if he interfered in any way she'd back off as though scalded.

Anyway he needed a smoke so he stepped out of the tent, lit up and stood in the fading light, watching the battle that still raged on. It was strange being here, he thought. Only a few hours ago he'd been at home in Geneva watching all of it on television and now here they were caught up in the middle of it.

So far it had been a clean war. Casualties up until now had been light on both sides and both the US and UK were talking about how it would be over in a few days, a week at the most. Richard didn't think so. Sure, the regime would fall and the Iraqi people and the world would be free of Saddam's evil, but would it end there? Not in his opinion it wouldn't. The big battles would end quickly and decisively, but winning over the hearts and minds of these people would be a different matter altogether.

"Those are bad for you," Sharron appeared beside him and leaned against his shoulder. "We may be superhuman but we're not immortal you know."

"I know," he threw the butt away and slipped his arm around her waist. She leaned closer into him, relishing the comfort of his arm.

"Did you enjoy your coffee?" he asked.

"Yes," she smiled. "I enjoyed it very much."

"Did he offer you any dessert?" Richard teased.

"It's none of your business but as a matter of fact he did," she grinned.

"Do you know he was asking all about you when you went to call Tremayne?"

"Was he now? And what did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth. I told him you had expensive tastes."

"Mmmm, what else?"

"I told him that you drive too fast."

"Hey! I do not drive too fast! What else?"

"I told him you could be dangerous when someone annoyed you. In fact I told him all of your good points."

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Remind me to do the same for you some day Richard. What else did you tell him?"

Richard grinned. "I also told him that he should ask you out but that Craig and I would kill him if he let you down or broke your heart."

"Oh, did you now? Thanks a million Richard. It may take me a while but I'll get you back - some day – I promise," she smiled sweetly at him, her eyes dancing in the fading daylight. "But for some strange reason you didn't put him off and he asked and I said yes."

"Atta girl!" Richard laughed.

* * *

"Eric, tell me about Petersen?" Craig asked softly keeping the gun drawn and pointed at the Canadian. He was getting dizzy again and coming close to passing out but he took a deep breath and forced himself to stand upright, taking a moment to let the waves of nausea and dizziness abate. He took a deep breath, or as deep a one as his cracked ribs would allow.

"Tell me the truth."

"The truth?" Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that I know what the truth is."

"It doesn't matter. I'll figure it out myself. Just tell me," Craig's voice was harsh. He'd gone through hell for this man and the other three and he needed to know why.

"You're not going to like it."

"Don't mess about with me Hamilton! Just tell me!"

"Okay, but put down that gun Craig I'm not your enemy."

The Canadian let out a deep sigh of relief when Craig finally shook his head in resignation and lowered the gun. He slipped the safety back on and tucked the gun into his trousers.

* * *

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sharron asked. It was completely dark now. There was no moon and the sand storm had abated. The snipers kept up their firing. The larger artillery hadn't shifted them and if anything it had made them more trigger-happy. Richard and Sharron were outside watching the darkness falling and listening to the not so distant sounds of gunfire. Richard was on his third cigarette.

"If its Colonel Lawson you're thinking about then the answer is definitely no!"

This earned him a light punch in the ribs.

"Well?" Sharron asked again. In the darkness he could see the glittering intensity in her eyes.

"It's a bit risky, but..."

Her eyes locked with his, understanding and love was what he saw in them.

He grinned at her. "What the hell? Let's do it!"

* * *

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Craig swayed unsteadily as he waited for Hamilton to speak. Sure, it would make more sense for them to just get the hell out of this place, make their way to the border, and find somewhere to sit down and have a beer and let Hamilton tell him the story there. That would be the most sensible thing to do, but he'd been through too much, and he'd suffered too much pain and he'd been beaten and kicked and tortured so much that, more than anything else, including freedom, safety and a cold beer, he wanted to know why. And he wanted to know it right now. So he forced himself to remain on his feet a little while longer.

"There are no weapons of mass destruction Craig," Hamilton sighed. "At least not here. Maybe not anywhere in Iraq."

"Oh yeah?" Craig didn't believe him. Everyone said there were biological, chemical and nuclear weapons in Iraq. That, and September 11th was the reason the US and the UK were going to war - were at war - with Iraq.

"We needed an excuse. We needed something more..."

"Did we? Like the World Trade Centre wasn't enough, or the fact that he's killed hundreds – thousands of his own people?" Craig raised an eyebrow.

"I know, but something more tangible, more international was needed. The threat to the safety of the world sounds better doesn't it? Sexier even?"

Craig nodded in agreement. "So which government do you work for?"

Hamilton smiled. "I don't work for any government. Believe it or not I am a United Nations weapons inspector and I am here in that role and in that role alone. It has nothing to do with my – previous - employment."

"And Petersen?" Craig asked. "Who does he work for?"

"Did," Hamilton told him. "He's dead. I saw his body in a cell down the corridor. Petersen was behind it all. He set the whole thing up from start to finish. Do you have any idea how long it took him or how much was involved? And why?"

"No, but this isn't the time to tell me. We'll have to make a move." Craig had heard something - a footstep - outside.

He carefully pushed himself off the wall, waiting until he was sure he could stand before making another move. Hamilton also stood up carefully. His injuries were nowhere near as bad as Craig's but he was suffering some degree of pain and walking any great distance would be uncomfortable. But they had no other choice. It was time to get themselves out of their prison. He slowly opened the door, just a crack – enough to check both directions. There was no one in sight. But that didn't mean they were in the clear. He couldn't see anyone but his senses told him there were people nearby, probably Iraqis. They would have to go now. He drew his gun and nodded to Hamilton and they moved out of the room.

As they walked along, Craig could feel his body healing, and realised that it was happening faster this time. He figured it was because Richard and Sharron were nearby and more able to concentrate on him - the closer the distance the stronger the ties were between the three of them. He could sense Sharron's eagerness and impatience and Richard's concern about the situation around them but the strongest sensation of all was their worry about him.

He could feel their thoughts circling around him – nothing more than fragments darting in and out of his mind, mixing up with his own thoughts and emotions until he wasn't sure if they were his or theirs. That's the way it always was now between the three of them, as though three minds and hearts and souls had been forged into one.

Once he would have hated that closeness. He would have pushed it away, turning from it as it was something too intimate, but with it he'd changed and for so long now it had been a part of him that without it he would be incomplete. Maybe that had been their intention, the people in Tibet. Maybe after they'd healed the three strangers who had fallen into their world from out of the sky they had known that he, Richard and Sharron would need a bond as strong as this to carry on living. That was the kicker. Would they ever have been this close? Richard and he had worked together on many occasions before, but were they friends? Not really. They got on – most of the time - and they worked well together, but as far as friendship was concerned they weren't really friends. Richard was more cynical, more suspicious and had a darker nature. He was a loner that was for sure whereas Craig was more outgoing, more fun-loving and gregarious. He was also surer of himself than Richard was, sometimes to his cost, and if he was honest with himself he could be bossy.

Sharron was a stunner, a real blonde bombshell, but young and inexperienced and always seemed depressed. That had been Craig's first impression of her when he'd first met her. Richard had agreed, and they hadn't been overly happy with the thought of taking such a greenhorn with them on such a dangerous mission.

But Treymane had insisted and they had no say in the matter. Sharron's expertise in bacteriology was required on this trip and they had no choice but to take her along with them. Craig had later been embarrassed at the thought of how he'd practically ignored her at the time.

Yet she'd done her work and they had almost made it home, if only the dammed plane hadn't been so badly shot up. He'd almost gotten them to safety but there had been too many mountains and he couldn't hold the altitude and they'd gone down in the snow, in the mountains miles from anywhere, and with no hope of rescue.

He remembered how he'd briefly regained consciousness just after they'd crashed. He had been thrown out of the cockpit and had fallen clear of the wreckage, but he hadn't been able to do anything other than realise the fact that they'd crashed and that he was still alive. He'd briefly wondered if Sharron and Richard had survived and then everything went black. Had he died? Had they died? It was a question they'd asked often but they hadn't an answer. They would have died that was certain, their injuries were severe and if they hadn't succumbed to them then the cold would have claimed them. But it hadn't ended up that way. Oh no, it hadn't ended at all that day. That day had been the beginning and every day since then had been different.

* * *

For a long time after the crash - weeks, months even, they hadn't talked about it. They couldn't talk about it because it was too overwhelming to take it all in. All three of them had been shocked, bewildered and frightened by the enormity of what had happened to them. They carried on their normal lives almost in denial, like – well like survivors of a plane crash, which was exactly what they were. To survive a plane crash was a terrible experience in itself but to have been plucked from the icy cold jaws of death only to find that not only had they been saved but _improved_ was too much to contemplate. So, they had avoided one another, each of them caught up in their own thoughts and methods of trying to figure out just what it all meant.

But gradually they knew that they would have to sit down and talk it over. There was no one else to turn to and it was this that drew them together. The awful loneliness of their situation found them searching for answers and, unable to find them; they began to talk about it. They couldn't not talk about it.

* * *

Geneva - many years ago.

Away from listening ears and curious looks, and in the safety of, first Richard's dump of a flat and then later in Sharron's new apartment – the one they would eventually all share - they would get together, drawn by some unknown need to be in one another's company. They'd have a bite to eat, pour a few drinks, relax, and then gradually, hesitantly they would begin to discuss it.

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

"How much are we changed?"

"I don't know that either."

"Why us?"

"Why not us?" Sharron asked. "We happened to be there. They would have done the same for anyone else."

"Would they have?" Craig asked thoughtfully, swirling the ice around in his glass and stretching out his long legs. Sharron was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to the fire, a frown on her face at Craig's question.

"Well yes, of course they would have. That's the kind of people they are." Richard said.

"No. I don't think so Richard." Craig said softly his eyes moving from Sharron to Richard then back to Sharron again. He took a deep breath. "I think they chose us deliberately because they knew who we were before we crashed." There he'd said it. It had been nagging at him for weeks.

"That's insane," Richard leaned forward on the couch. "How could they possibly know? And why us?" He shook his head. "No. It was chance, pure and simple, that's all."

"I wish I could believe that Richard. But I can't."

"Why not?" Sharron asked.

Craig thought about it for a while before answering her, trying to figure it out for himself first. He shook his head. "I don't know Sharron. But think of it this way – they took us into their world, into their existence that they've kept hidden for centuries, healed us and allowed us to go on our merry way, expecting us to be so grateful that we'd keep our knowledge of their whereabouts a secret! Nah, I can't believe that. I can't believe they'd risk exposure just to save the lives of three strangers."

"Why not?" Sharron asked again, she could see where Craig was going but she wanted to hear him say it.

"Because we could have been anyone! We could have been three criminals running from the law – could they have trusted us then? I mean, take one look at Shifty here, could you trust _that_?" Craig grinned and winked at Sharron

Richard had quietly risen up of the couch and was helping himself to a generous measure of Sharron's gin. Caught in the act, his face was the picture of guilt but he ignored Craig's attempt at wit, and began to pace around the room.

"Seriously though," Richard said. "Are you implying that they caused us to crash? Or that the whole thing was somehow – deliberate – or – or - preordained in some way? Craig, that's nonsense. We were shot down by the men who were chasing us. It had nothing to do with the Tibetans."

Craig shook his head. "No. Not preordained. Well maybe a bit. Shit, I dunno. It's confusing. I haven't a clue. But somehow – I don't know why – but I just get the impression they knew something about us that allowed them to trust us. They had to. It doesn't add up any other way."

"Maybe they could sense us as we were flying over," Sharron suggested. "Maybe they learned enough about us to know that we would only use our powers for good intentions."

"But good old fashioned human nature Sharron is, in essence, corruptible. What's the saying – absolute power corrupts absolutely?"

"That doesn't mean we will be corrupted. Whatever these powers are and I suspect we're still a long way from understanding them or how strong they are, we won't misuse them."

"How do you know that? How can you be sure we won't someday get tired of helping others and help ourselves for a change?"

"Craig has made a good point Sharron," Richard said.

"Thank you!" Craig raised his glass.

"Actually both of you have made a good point." Richard wanted a cigarette but Sharron wouldn't let him smoke in the apartment so he poured more gin into his glass and sat down again. "Sharron could be correct in saying they sensed us and learned enough about us to trust us, and I'm not saying that they caused our plane to be shot down, I think that just happened – the weirdest of coincidences – or just plain bad luck on our part – or good luck depending on how you look at it - but I agree with Craig that what they did was deliberate. Maybe they wanted or needed people like us in the outside world. We may know nothing about them but they know enough about our world to see the state it's in. Maybe they decided to patch us up and send us out there to – I don't know – try and fix things, before we blew up the world and them along with it."

Craig shook his head, mentally clearing it. It was late, he was tired and he'd drunk a little too much - Sharron could be heavy-handed when it came to pouring whiskey.

"Would you like another too-strong whiskey Craig?" she asked, surprising the hell out of him that she'd read his mind so easily. Yet when he thought about it, it wasn't a surprise, not really. It suddenly seemed so natural.

"You're trying to corrupt me, aren't you?" he grinned as he held out his glass to her.

"Absolutely," she replied.

Craig took another mouthful of whiskey and glared at Sharron – she'd deliberately put only a splash of water into it.

"Okay then, so we're ah - sorta agreed on Richard's point - or was it mine - or yours?" He glanced first at one then the other. "Ah never mind. Somebody made the point and we more or less agree on it. So let's move on. What about the rest of it? What are we now? What have they done to us?"

"Does that matter?" Sharron asked. "Isn't it enough to know that we've been improved and are better equipped to do our jobs?"

"No. It's not enough. I need to know." Craig looked carefully at both of them.

"There's no way we can know yet," she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "But I think we'll learn a lot more about it as we go along."

Still holding his hand she pulled herself to her feet. "Now, I've had more than enough to drink and I'm going to bed. I take it you two are staying here tonight?"

They both nodded.

"Well, I have only one spare room sorted out so far. Craig, you were supposed to help me decorate the other one last weekend ..."

"I'll do it this weekend, I promise."

"... so the two of you can fight over who gets it and who takes the sofa. Good night."

* * *

That had been many years ago. They'd spent many similar evenings talking, trying to understand, until gradually they came to have an acceptance if not an understanding of it, and Sharron had been right, they had learned as they went along. They'd learned and they'd evolved and they'd developed their strengths and powers until they'd become a team.

Craig remembered how much he had hated it at first. There he was stuck with a boring Englishman and a woman who was naïve, depressed and amateur, but very beautiful. Maybe in another time and place he would have asked her for a date, but once he'd gotten to know her a little he would have dumped her and fled. It annoyed him to think that he'd once been like that towards her. But the Sharron he had gotten to know after the crash was different. As was the Richard and the Craig. It seemed all three of them had matured. They became more and more aware of the miracle that had happened to them. They were older and wiser and - different. So very different. Their physical strength was ten, twenty times stronger than normal, their brains could process and assimilate much more data, their memories photographic and their telepathy had grown from its tentative beginning to something as natural as their other five senses.

And they became friends. Maybe the fact that it was a secret shared only by them that drew them closer together. Maybe it was because they needed each other. It didn't matter what the reason was. They were close, they cared and they belonged together. They felt deeply about the world they lived in and their job became more important too. They always did it to the best of their ability, but now their ability was that much greater and they could do more. Often as a silent thank you to that far off race of people who had made it possible and who had told them to use it only for good in the world, but mostly because they knew they could do it and they wanted to.

Despite his cynicism Richard was the most spiritual of the three of them, Craig the least and Sharron somewhere in between, but whether it was spiritual or not, it was the reason they lived and the reason he was here in Iraq wishing he could have averted a war by whatever means necessary. The fact that he had failed, and the bombing in the distance told him he had failed, did not matter. He had tried, as he once promised he would always do, and that was what mattered.

* * *

"Craig, are you okay?" Hamilton's voice cut into his thoughts. "You don't look so good."

Craig forced himself upright, swaying only a little. "Yeah, I'm okay. Tell me more about Petersen?"

"Petersen? Ah yes, good old Petersen. The reason we're stuck here in this hell-hole. It's a long story Craig."

"We've got time."

"It started nearly fifteen years ago..." Hamilton began. About the time life changed for me, Craig thought. "Gunnar Peterson met his wife while he was teaching at Stockholm University. She was an Iraqi citizen, one of the few women allowed an education. She came from a wealthy family and obviously there was a lot of good old-fashioned pishkesh..."

"Bless you!"

"It means a bribe!"

"I know that!"

"Is there any language you don't know?"

Craig smiled. "Not really. Actually pishkesh is Farsi. Technically it means a gift but bribe works too."

"Whatever, you know what I mean. Anyway, Petersen met her at uni and, despite her family's protests, they married. She had no intention of ever going back to Iraq. She'd seen the world, liked the freedom it offered, and wanted to stay. I wouldn't call it the romance of the decade though, he was – fifteen, twenty years her senior. Call me cynical, but she probably saw him as her ticket to remain in the West. Hell, maybe she did love him. He certainly loved her and it cost him his job at the university. The teacher/student thing is a no no, even in Sweden but, anyway she finished her degree, he got another job at a local school and then her family started bugging her. She resisted for a good while but the letters began to get her down. Then they stopped. Nothing. Not a word. Nada. She tried calling them but no luck."

"Jesus!" Craig had an idea where this was going.

"Or in this case Allah," Hamilton said. "Anyway she couldn't stand it any more and decided to go home. Petersen knew that he'd lose her if she did and he started making enquiries. Most of her immediate family had disappeared. Presumed dead."

"Yep. That figures."

"Yeah. But it turned out that they had warned her that this was going to happen. Mom and Dad had been threatened a few times and they'd told her – she'd kept most of this from Petersen. At first she thought it was a bluff – or they were overreacting and then when he told her, and she realised it was her stubbornness, or her love of freedom that had cost the lives of her family, she couldn't handle it. He found her hanging from a beam in the garage."

"Not quite a happy ending, but what's it got to do with this?"

"I told you it was a long story Craig so bear with me. Petersen was broken; he was finished – for a long time. He could barely get up in the mornings. Then he pulled himself together and went into chemical and biological warfare research - he published some interesting papers on it. Then he applied for a job in the UN. With his academic background he was a natural, that's all they were interested it. His personal background was never called into question. I'd joined myself by that time and I ended up working with him. I never knew his story until much later, and even then it didn't click with me. Then September 11th came along and suddenly we were scurrying about like ants and looking for weapons of mass destruction."

"So Petersen saw his chance to get some good old-fashioned revenge?"

"Yeah, more or less. He blamed Saddam's regime for the loss of his wife and sometime after 9/11 he hatched his plan. Or maybe he'd started it earlier, I dunno, but he did it. The UN Inspectorate had always been interested in Iraq and we knew there were WMD's there but finding them was the problem. Then Bush and Blair started talking war, and naturally the UN vetoed it, saying that we had to be sure he had WMD's before doing anything about it. 'So go find them,' the politicians told us. 'Give us the excuse.'

Petersen gave them the excuse. Actually he had good info. He'd made a few contacts in Iraq over the years. His wife's cousin for one – this guy was anti-Saddam, obviously and together they cooked up enough evidence to at least suggest a factory."

"How?" Craig asked.

"There was an old chemical research plant, and yeah, they did make Anthrax, Ebola, the heap. They even had smallpox stashed there at one time. But funds ran low and it closed down a few years back. But Petersen's cousin-in-law had worked there and he passed a lot of the information to good old Gunnar who, in turn, passed it to us. Satellite imagery confirmed it, as Petersen knew it would and here we are."

"And here we are. How did this happen? How the hell was he able to slip through the net?"

"Like I said Craig, his academic and research background was impeccable. It happens. But it was exactly what the US and UK needed to convince themselves and the world that the war was justified. They sexed it up, and Petersen was the one who gave them the sexy foreplay. He was exactly what they needed."

Hamilton paused and looked carefully at Craig.

"What?" Craig had a bad feeling about the way this was going.

Hamilton scratched his head. "You're not going to like this part."

"Oh yeah! I don't like any part of it so far!"

"If we weren't so battered and bruised you'll probably hit me but, here goes. I was the one who called in Nemesis."

"Great! Hey, you're right I don't like this bit!"

"I figured you wouldn't," Hamilton wiped his face. "It just all seemed too pat for me. I volunteered for the trip because I suspected someone, somewhere was up to something. Not just Petersen. The war was imminent, that was a given. There was no point in sending us in, overtly or covertly. Either way it wouldn't make a difference. But if we found what we were looking for the Coalition would have the evidence to say that the war had been justified. If we didn't, they could say they had reasonable grounds but that we hadn't survived to bring the evidence home. I figured we were in trouble so I called in you guys. I knew enough about Nemesis from – er – my previous employment to know you were impartial and could be trusted. If I – or – we had survived and gotten out what we found or didn't find would be buried. But you lot wouldn't bury it."

Craig nodded but said nothing.

Eric Hamilton watched the Nemesis agent and wondered what he was thinking. Craig had been silent for a while, deep in thought. Would he take the plot and run with it? Nemesis was nothing if not honest and its agents were renowned for their honesty and impartiality and Craig Sterling was a remarkable man from what he had seen and learned of him. But would he do it?

Craig got up and began to pace the room back and forth, back and forth.

"You're making me seasick."

"Sorry," Craig stopped and stood still. "Petersen was the ideal candidate for this mission. Hell, he'd hatched it and nurtured it! All to start a war that was going to start anyway. My God! The work involved in setting it up, and for what?"

"Maybe it was enough to know that he'd played a role in it?" Hamilton suggested.

"No it's more than that. He was the fall guy. If he found what he was looking for and it was real, then the war is justified. If he found what he was looking for and it wasn't real then it could be faked to justify the war. If he failed, then the war was justified. Any way you look at it the war is right in the eyes of the world. But..." Craig stopped and looked at Hamilton.

"But what?"

"But you called in Nemesis. Didn't that make him suspicious?"

"Nah. The fact that we were going into Iraq covertly necessitated a bodyguard. You."

"Thanks. I think." Craig nodded. "So, what happens now?"  
"Probably nothing. The war's started. We didn't find anything. Petersen is dead. I'll put a report in to the effect that what we found was faked, and – I dunno – but I suspect they'll bury it. That's why this was a covert mission in the first place?"

"And you along with it." And me too, Craig realised.

"Probably. But what about you and Nemesis?"

Craig's eyes narrowed. It wasn't his job. He was just the bodyguard. Or was he? "What about me and Nemesis? Yeah, sure I'll put in a report and I'll include what you told me about Petersen, and I'll include my own assessment of the situation – and by that I mean the way you lot went about it. But it's not our place to make judgements on the rights and wrongs of anything. Like I said Nemesis is . . . ."

"Yeah, I know – impartial. Is that some kind of motto or something?"

Craig's eyes grew hard. "So what if it is? It's the reason we can cross borders with a freedom even the UN doesn't have. But we're not the world's police force. We cannot allow ourselves to make judgements. Oh yeah, I know we can't stand by and let Saddam continue what he's been doing. But by that same belief are the US and UK right to go to war against him if they're using trumped up evidence? Sure, he's killed thousands – millions of his own people and he's stamped his feet a few times and he's threatened the rest of the world, and he's sponsored terrorism to devastating effects, but to have to fake a credible threat is still wrong. It's enough that he has done what he's done without having to sex it up."

"Goddammit Craig I agree with you! I'm just trying to say that we need something to show the world that Saddam is a threat to _all_ of us. Not just his own people. So what if it's not completely exact? So what if it doesn't prove WMD's exist? Hell, we _know_ they exist! We just haven't found them yet! If nothing else, what we found proves that there _was_ a plant. That's enough to justify a war, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Craig asked thoughtfully noticing the shift in Hamilton's reasoning. But was it, he wondered, torn between uncovering the truth and allowing the truth to be twisted into some other interpretation even if it was for all the right reasons? What right had they, had anyone to do that?

"Nemesis can't – won't - do that."

"But _you _can." Hamilton said quietly. "_You_ can back me up."

Craig shook his head. "No."

"Why the hell not?"

Craig didn't answer. Everything he'd suspected was true and he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Tremayne had made it perfectly clear to him that he was in no way permitted to become involved. Involvement flew in the face of every Nemesis regulation, but not to do anything flew in the face of all that he believed in. All that he had ever believed in. It was the right thing to do and all he had to do was support what Hamilton had to report. That was all.

"Okay, I'll do it. If we get out of here in one piece, I'll do it."

"Thank you," Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

To be continued. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Quiet!" Craig stopped what he was doing and cocked his head to the side.

"I don't hear anyone," Hamilton strained to listen.

"They're in the second room on the left," Craig told him, still listening.

"How the hell ...?" Then he did hear something. A door opening. They ducked back into the cell. Hamilton stood back while Craig stood behind the door, his gun drawn once more. The footsteps drew closer and then Craig's face broke into a wide grin. He lowered his gun, opened the door and looked down the corridor.

"Good evening," he said. "You're a sight for sore eyes. Well, she is anyway."

"It's good to see you too Craig. I – we - thought you could do with some help," Richard told him. "Besides, you owe me seventy-five Euros for your - bar bill."

"It was for expenses," Craig argued.

"What? I thought you were on holiday."

"Vacation." Craig corrected him.

"Whatever. Don't be daft. You can't charge it to expenses. Treymane will go nuts."

"No seriously, I was watching someone. It was a tip off I got when I arrived there," Craig put on his most innocent expression.

"You know, you can't keep on using that old ploy just to claim your leave back."

* * *

Before they could take the banter any further Sharron was in his arms, hugging him and covering his face with delighted kisses, and forgetting all about his arm and his ribs and the hundred other places he hurt. She held on to him as though there was no tomorrow, her arms tightly around him and it hurt, it hurt like hell, but somehow none of that mattered any more and then his good arm was around her and he was hugging her back, holding her close to him and he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in. He closed his eyes for a moment or two and then it really did start to get painful. 

"Um, Sharron...?" Craig winced. It was hard to draw breath now. "Sharron?"

"Sharron! For God's sake put him down," Richard couldn't help laugh.

Sharon came back down to earth and released Craig from her embrace. "Oh Craig, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you? I was just so glad to see you again."

"I'm fine kiddo. I'm fine now." He held her chin in the palm of his hand.

"Glad to see you too," he smiled and he was just about to plant a kiss on her lips but suddenly it all caught up with him. He was weaker than he had realised. Okay that's it, I've had enough, Craig decided as his knees began to buckle and he stumbled backwards a couple of steps away from Sharron. Then he went down, pitching forward onto the hard floor. He tried to get up but his strength had gone now. He closed his eyes.

Sharron dropped to her knees beside him, shrugging off her backpack. She carefully turned Craig over onto his back, seeing for the first time just how badly he had been injured. She cradled his head in her arms for a moment, closing her eyes with relief that he was safe but also with worry about his condition. Richard was beside her in an instant, lifting up the backpack and opening it, ready to reach her what she needed out of it.

"Is he okay?"

"Not really but he will be."

"We haven't got much time love."

"I know. Just give me a few minutes." She checked his pulse. It was strong. But he was badly dehydrated and needed fluids. His injuries aside, dehydration was the more dangerous situation to be in. She worked quickly, strapping up his shoulder in a makeshift sling and making certain his arm wouldn't move and cause further damage, then she quickly checked over his other injuries.

"How serious is he?" Richard asked. He felt helpless now, this was Sharron's job and he could only stand by. He kept one eye on his friends and the other on Hamilton who was merely standing there watching them. Richard wondered what he was thinking.

_A couple of his ribs are cracked and his cheekbone may be fractured, and he's cut and bruised from head to toe. I'm more concerned right now about the bruising to his abdomen and chest. I think he's bleeding internally and there may be some damage to his liver and spleen, and possibly his kidneys - he's taken a lot of punches. But it's nothing we can't handle. Given a little time he will heal. In fact he's beginning to heal already and if you could distract our friend here I can give him a helping hand. _she told him in her mind.

Richard nodded.

"He's not too badly injured Richard, he'll be okay," she said aloud. "I'll give him some morphine and he should be able to keep going on that, and some amoxicillin for any possible infections. He'll manage until we get him home."

Craig's eyes opened. For a moment he just stared at her and then at Richard. Richard returned his gaze with an almost imperceptible nod.

_Okay Craig, I know the situation. We'll deal with it as we go along._

Craig nodded in response and relaxed, allowing Sharron to finish working on him.

"What about you?" Richard turned towards Hamilton, blocking the man's view of Sharron and Craig.

"I'm er – fine. They didn't work me over as much. Just a few bruises and..."

"Okay then. Let's go and see if we can find some weapons or supplies, or something." Richard led him away.

* * *

Sharron took a deep breath and placed her hands on Craig's chest. Their eyes met with a question in Sharron's. Craig responded with a slight shake of his head. No. He didn't want her to do it. It would mean transferring his pain into her. It would mean hurting her. It would also mean she would feel what he had felt. Everything he had felt. 

_But I already know Craig. _

Yeah she did, but it just seemed harder now that she was here with him. He nodded reluctantly and then he felt the warmth touching him as she began to heal him.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Craig asked. 

"Shouldn't that be me asking you?" Sharron wiped away the tears. Healing his body and mind had taken a lot out of her but she was recovering. Craig was now sitting up, his back against the wall, his arm no longer in a sling but still stiff and sore. His ribs were healed and his organs repaired and almost functioning normally once more. The bruises were already dying away to a dirty yellow colour. The puffiness around his eyes had begun to go down, although his left one was still bloodshot, and his lips, though still raw were less swollen. The two of them sat there silently, not knowing what to say, so much had passed between them in the last ten minutes.

Then Craig scrambled to his feet. "C'mere," he said, still leaning against the wall.

He opened his arms to her and held her tightly. "Thank you so very, very much."

Sharron shook her head. "Craig, you don't have to thank me."

"I know, but all the stuff you just did for me. And before, the way you came to me, into my head, when they were - when I was – when I needed you the most. You held me and it was you that kept me strong, and you healed me. That must have hurt you so much," Craig's heart flooded with guilt at the pain he had caused her, and love because she'd endured it for him. "How can I ever repay that?"

Her eyes filled with tears again and she gently ran her fingers through his hair. "I love you, and I know you love me, and that is more than enough repayment."

"Sharron?" Craig's voice was low, almost a whisper. "All the other stuff - you know - what they did to me. I – I can't talk about it. I don't wanna talk about it."

She nodded. "I know, but it's better if you do."

"I can't," Craig pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not now. Maybe some day – some evening - just you and me - over a few drinks, then I'll talk about it. I'll even buy the drinks," he smiled. "But not yet. Okay?"

She nodded.

"Besides, we've more important things to talk about right now." He quickly explained what Hamilton had wanted him to do.

She was shaking her head. "Craig, you can't!"

He could hear footsteps. Richard and Hamilton were returning. They'd be back in a second. There was no time to explain. He put his finger to his lips in a silencing gesture.

"I'll explain later. Just work with me for now kiddo," he winked at her.

* * *

Richard and Hamilton had searched the remains of the building and what was left of the village. Nothing stirred, other than the three Iraqis they spotted jumping into a nearby jeep and speeding off towards their fighting comrades. 

"All clear. Let's go." The four of them moved out.

Craig and Sharron split up and checked all directions. They were surrounded to the south, east and west. North was no good as the main fighting was there. South-east was the direction of the border and the Coalition Forces but to get there would mean dodging their way through pockets of resistance.

"How did you two get here?" Craig asked.

"With great difficulty," Richard told him. "We made it part of the way but then we got stuck for about an hour, until it was clear enough to move forward. There're a whole lot of people out there and none of them are all that friendly. We can't use the same route back to the camp. It's cut off now."

It was impossible. They had no choice but to remain where they were. We need a plan, Craig thought. Wish I had one right now!

"Okay, we stay here. We find whatever weapons we can and we hold out until the Marines get here." He looked to first Richard and then Sharron. They both nodded in agreement. They had made similar conclusions.

"You mean defend this place!" Hamilton looked incredulous. "You're nuts!"

"You bet I am!" Craig looked mean. He'd been nuts to come here in the first place so why break with tradition?

"Hey, it's a good plan! Not great but elegant in its simplicity. It'll do until we can come up with something better!" Richard told him. "It might not even come to that."

"I didn't say it wasn't a good plan. I just said you were nuts! All three of you!" But Hamilton nodded and together they went back to the main guard room and began to hunt for weapons.

* * *

The electricity had gone off earlier but Craig found a fridge with bottled water in it. Just two bottles which he could have downed all at once. He took them out of the fridge and threw one to Hamilton. They were still chilled. 

"No beer?" Richard asked hopefully.

"We're in Iraq you idiot!" Craig rolled his eyes.

The water was a godsend. Craig drank about half of his bottle then put the rest back into the fridge in the hope it would remain cool a while longer. Hamilton held on to his.

* * *

They found one rifle and Craig's other smaller pistol. Richard and Sharron both had handguns with them so that gave them a total of five small firearms. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing. Then Sharron found a stash of hand grenades. She carefully removed about a dozen and together with Craig they placed them at the exits to the building, carefully pulling out the pins and propping them underneath rocks and other bits of rubble so that if anyone stepped on them they would detonate. Not only would it slow down any attackers but it would provide a crude but effective early warning system. 

"Just remember where we parked these," she warned him.

They'd also found a telephone and a radio receiver. Craig tried them but both were dead. There were also maps, charts and documents, all in Arabic.

Craig read them but they contained nothing of interest. This place was nothing more than a part time police post that doubled up as a temporary prison/interrogation centre. There was nothing of strategic or military importance in it.

He checked the building one last time, making sure it was as secure as he could make it then went back to the fridge and took another long drink of water. For a minute he let himself relax, and that's when the pain came back. While he'd been busy he hadn't had time to think about it, now it was back with an angry vengeance. Craig slumped over the table, closing his eyes as the waves of pain in his arm and ribs and abdomen washed over him. What Sharron had done had helped but he wasn't completely cured yet and it would be so easy now to just sit down but he couldn't. Not yet. He pushed himself up again, promising himself that when this was over he was going to take a long well-earned break. No skiing, no mountain climbing, in fact nothing. He'd borrow some good books from Sharron and he'd sit there reading and he'd do as little as possible. When this war was over.

_I'll pamper you, _Sharron told him from the other room.

_You'd better, _he replied.

_Well, I won't, _Richard cut into his thoughts _But I'll lend you some books if you want. _

_Gee, thanks! _

* * *

To be continued 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Part 3.

Just A Little War.

3.00am

There were still pockets of resistance in the surrounding area. Most had scattered but one or two snipers remained and they were causing numerous problems. Chris Lawson cursed their resolve, if that's what it was. But whatever the reason, they were still holding out and something had to be done about it soon because they had to move on towards Basra before morning.

That was the order he'd been given, and the Nemesis agents and the weapons inspectors, if they were still alive, would be on their own. He hated the thought of leaving them, but what other choice did he have? The orders were to push forward away from that direction and, to turn left towards Sterling and the others would not only be in contravention with his orders, but it would give the Iraqis the impression that they were retreating.

"Bugger it!" He said to himself. They were out of time. With a heavy heart he made his decision and he gave the orders to move out.

* * *

Richard looked at his watch. "I don't think they're coming."

"Give them a little while longer," Sharron said. "It is giving Craig time to get his strength back."

"How is he doing?"

"He's better. Much better. But he's still bleeding internally. I'm worried about his kidneys, but his ribs and arm are healing. Thankfully the ribs were only cracked and didn't puncture his lungs. The rest of his injuries are just superficial lacerations and bruising. But he's been through a lot and I'm worried that he's still weak."

"Hey! He's doing just great!" Craig told them as he walked in. "See. I can wiggle my fingers."

He held up his hand and managed to move a couple of fingers back and forth. It wasn't a very impressive movement and it hurt so he stopped doing it.

"But he really wants to go home now," he told them.

* * *

"What shall we do with Hamilton?" Richard asked.

"That's a good question. Where is he by the way?"

"I sent him to check at the back of the building," Sharron said. "I don't think he'll try anything. There's nowhere to go and he knows the only safe way out is with us."

"Good girl," Craig nodded.

Richard took a piece of paper out of his back pocket and handed it to Craig. "It's an email from Nemesis - a further background check. I think you should read it."

Craig nodded as he read it. "Yeah. That's pretty much what I figured. He tried to tell me it was Petersen and I went along with it."

"So what are you going to do, Craig?" Sharron asked.

"Hey, I'm only the bodyguard. The hired hand. It's not my place to do anything."

"Isn't it?" Sharron frowned.

"What do I do? Kill him? You tell me?"

She didn't answer. Despite her – their – beliefs it wasn't an easy question to answer. The world needed a reason, an excuse, but it needed the correct one. Was there one? Maybe. To do nothing was wrong too.

"See what I mean?" Craig's eyes locked with hers, knowing what she was thinking. He touched her face gently and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll do the right – the proper - thing. I'm not corruptible yet."

"Absolutely," Sharron smiled at him, remembering their conversation from years ago.

* * *

"He's coming back," Richard cautioned them and changed the subject as Hamilton opened the door. "Guess who's got a date?"

"Not you, that's for sure!" Craig said.

"Ha ha! Very funny. Macready here has a forthcoming hot date with a certain Lieutenant Colonel Lawson. As soon as he gets home and can get away from the wife and kiddies, that is."

"He is not married!" Sharron cut in. "I've already checked."

"You got a date!" Craig raised an eyebrow. "With Chris Lawson?"

"Don't look so surprised!"

"I'm not. I mean – well done. I mean – he's a good guy. You'll get on well with him," Craig smiled at her. "But you know that we'll kill him if he hurts you."

* * *

"Okay," Craig made his decision. "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm getting real tired of hanging around this place. Let's go."

"Where?" Hamilton asked.

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Let's face it, the military are way too busy to come to our assistance and even if they had time and manpower we're cut off from them. I think we should go towards Basra." Craig looked at his two friends.

Both Richard and Sharron nodded. There really was no point staying. Hamilton, on the other hand looked dismayed. "Towards Basra? That is suicide!"

"Maybe," Sharron said. "Maybe not. It makes sense to go towards Basra, that's where the marines are pushing towards. We can slip in undercover of night and even rendezvous with them on the way. Or, if necessary head into the countryside and reach the border from there. But are you sure you're up to it Craig? I can give you more morphine if you need it."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm okay."

* * *

There was no moon to light their way but they had no need of one. Like cats, their eyes quickly became accustomed to the darkness and they could make out a rough, but adequate track which they took, knowing instinctively that it was heading in the right direction – towards the war. Moonshine would only have hindered them anyway and would have made them easy targets for snipers who were probably still in the area.

Richard led the way, Sharron was behind him and Craig followed along with Hamilton. They could have made the distance in no time but Hamilton was having difficulty with the darkness and he stumbled over the rough ground. A couple of times Craig had to catch him before he fell, acknowledging the pain in his ribs with a sharp intake of breath as he grabbed the older man and helped him regain his footing.

"This is insanity!" he hissed angrily, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Yeah, but it is such great fun," Craig said and roughly pushed him forward again. "Now keep moving and keep quiet!"

_How are you managing, Craig? _Sharron asked, still walking behind Richard and keeping with his pace but noticing Craig and Hamilton starting to lag behind.

_I'm doing okay, kid _

They had considered heading back to where Craig had parked the Land-cruiser on the assumption it hadn't been located, but they'd discounted this as an option because it was too risky due to the fighting in that area now and there would be no guarantee that it was still where Craig had hidden it. Chances were that it had been found and was either stolen or stripped, so Craig had steered them away from even considering going for it.

They walked on. After a while Craig found he was beginning to tire and his pace began to slow considerably.

Guess I'm in worse shape that I thought, he figured. Hamilton was also breathing heavily and his pace was slower too. Sharron glanced back at the two men. She slowed until she was along side them.

"You're in pain Craig. Do you want to stop for five minutes?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "No. Let's keep moving but walk with me a while."

She reached for his hand and held it as she walked along beside him. Her strength beside him made him stronger. He squeezed her hand, thankful for the contact.

* * *

Richard's skin prickled as he felt the awareness of danger up ahead. He stopped dead. Craig and Sharron also felt it and halted in their tracks. Craig caught Hamilton by the shoulder and, with a whispered word in his ear, warned him to remain silent.

The three Nemesis agents concentrated, giving their heightened senses a chance to realise what the danger was and where it was coming from.

"There's about five of them and they're about three hundred yards away. And best of all, they have transport," Richard scanned the area to get a visual of them.

"Over there," Sharron pointed to a gully where the soldiers had stopped. She could smell cigarette smoke and it was obvious they were relaxed and not expecting to run into anything or anyone in this wilderness. "They're armed. All of them."

"Stay here with Hamilton," Craig cautioned her and made to move forward, but she frowned at him in the darkness.

"No. You are in no condition to fight them. You stay. Richard and I can handle them."

"Yeah, but . . . ." Craig didn't want her to go in, but it made sense for him to remain with Hamilton. He pulled his knife out and handed it to her. "Okay, but take this with you. No guns. Gunfire will only attract more of them."

* * *

Richard had been correct, there were five of them. They were soldiers or militia, or maybe just heavily armed civilians. Either way it didn't matter. What did matter was they had transport – an old wreck of a jeep that had definitely seen better days. And all they had to do was steal it.

"There are three inside the jeep and the other two are keeping guard," Sharron whispered. "One is at the back – er – relieving himself and the other is having a smoke. I wonder why they've stopped here."

"It doesn't matter why. It's fortunate for us that they did stop. The two outside are going to be easy to take. It's the other three that will cause problems," Richard whispered back.

"We'll take one each then let the other three come out after us. If we can get them out of the vehicle they'll be more vulnerable."

Richard took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Silently they crept forward, an unspoken understanding flowing between them, each movement known as though choreographed and rehearsed. Sharron went left, drawing her knife as she did so, inching slowly towards the guy with the cigarette, hoping he wouldn't finish it and climb back into the jeep before she reached him. Richard circled around some nearby rocks towards the other one at the back of the vehicle. They made no sound, not even a breath to disturb the stillness of the night. Their senses were awake - sight, sound and smell. The rankness of their filthy uniforms, the tobacco smell of the cigarettes, and even the scent of the food they'd been eaten earlier.

Like a panther, Sharron crept up on him from behind, covering his mouth with one hand and drawing the knife across his throat. She caught him as he fell, feeling the hot pulsing blood flow out of him. She felt a momentary pang of regret and sorrow that she'd taken a life, but she knew that she had no other choice. At the same time Richard grabbed for the second man, also catching him from behind and snapping his neck in a heartbeat. Richard allowed him to fall against the back of the jeep with a thump.

Both of them crouched down as the three inside heard the noise and went instantly on the alert, calling out for their comrades. When there was no response they cautiously opened the doors and looked out. There was nothing to see. One stepped out of the jeep, the other who was the driver also opened the door and looked around him - one hand reaching for the radio just as Sharron grabbed him by the collar and, in one swift movement, she pulled him out of the seat and onto the ground. He tried to get up but she killed him quickly and cleanly. The radio handset had fallen uselessly to the floor where the soldier in the back of the vehicle stretched across the seat and tried to grab for it. Sharron climbed into the driver's seat and stopped him with one blow. She pulled him out of the vehicle. Richard had already taken out the front seat passenger.

"Are you okay?" he asked her as they dragged the bodies a few yards off road and out of sight.

"Yes," she replied as their eyes met briefly in the darkness.

* * *

Craig waited, listening in the silence, worrying about them, but knowing they could handle the situation. Darkness and strength was on their side. He waited. Hamilton saw his chance and took it. He pulled out the gun that Craig had given him earlier, and holding it by the barrel, and with all his strength, he hit Craig over the back of his head. Or at least he tried to. But the Nemesis agent quickly stepped to the side and turned and grabbed the gun out of Hamilton's hand and in less than a second he had turned it on Hamilton who quickly raised his hands and backed off.

* * *

Richard sensed the incident and frowned at her. "Craig?"

Sharron nodded. "That was plan B."

"Plan B? We have a Plan B?"

"Yes. We thought Hamilton would try something and Craig wanted to talk to him again. I think he wants him to change his mind. So we gave him the chance."

"I just wish you'd let me in on it when you two are planning something. You know, it's not very nice being left in the dark all the time," Richard grumbled as he climbed into the jeep beside her.

Sharron's laugh was hollow. "I'm sorry Richard. We concocted it earlier and there wasn't an opportunity to tell you."

* * *

"You are quick," Hamilton remarked, almost casually.

"Oh, I'm usually a lot quicker than that. You just caught me on a bad day," Craig told him.

"Look Eric, we don't have a lot of time left. So how about telling me the truth? She was your wife not Petersen's, wasn't she?" Craig asked him, his voice soft. "You planned the whole thing from start to finish, and when Petersen was killed you let me believe that it was him. Didn't you?"

Hamilton's shoulders slumped in defeat and he sat down heavily. There was nothing left now. "Yes. She was my wife. I loved her and she died because they – because - this goddamn country caused her death. And – and yes - I planned it. I fed Petersen the information and let him run with it. I'm – I'm - sorry." He was silent for a moment, remembering. Craig waited for him to continue but he'd given up.

"So what happens now?" he finally asked.

"We go home."

"You mean you're not going to kill me?"

Craig carefully lowered himself to a sitting position beside him. He couldn't help but feel sympathy for the man. "No. I'm not going to kill you. I'd no intention of killing you, unless I had to. I just want to get us out of here in one piece."

"And then what?"

"You file your report, I'll file mine. End of story."

"It won't be the end though."

"It will be for me. I won't lie for you Eric. I can't. Not for you or for anyone. I'll report what happened to my boss and it's up to him to decide whether or not to take it to the UN. He probably will though, if you put in your report what I think you're going to put in it."

"I don't have a choice Craig."

Craig got to his feet. "No. That's not true. Everyone has a choice."

* * *

"Are you two okay?" Richard asked as they pulled to a halt beside the two men. It would soon be daylight; they would have to get a move on if they were going to make it.

"We're fine," Craig told him. "Just a couple of things we had to iron out."  
"Yes well, I hope you've got everything sorted out because we're going to have to make this quick. It's almost dawn and MaCready here has a hot date!"

* * *

The sun was coming up when they saw the tanks in the distance. Sharron's smile was radiant as they drew closer and she could make out a familiar face.

"It's them," she grinned as she climbed out of the jeep. She turned to Craig and Richard. "Just give me five minutes. And please don't say anything!"

* * *

They handed Hamilton over to the waiting MP's and medics. They explained that he wasn't under arrest but that he should be escorted under guard back to his own people. The MP's looked puzzled but Craig refused to elaborate any further.

"Just get him home safely," was all he would say.

As he stepped into the military ambulance Hamilton turned and gave him a look and a nod. Whether it was in thanks or whether it was in agreement, Craig couldn't be sure. He'd find out in time.

"Are you coming with us Mr Sterling? We can have you air-lifted to Kuwait City in a couple of hours," the medic asked, noting his injuries.

Craig, with a shake of his head, declined the offer of medical treatment; he felt fine, not great, but well enough to wait until he got home to Geneva. It had been a long, hard few days and a couple more hours wouldn't kill him.

"I'll catch the next one, but thanks anyway," he told them.

The two men stood and waited as Sharron went to greet her marine.

* * *

"Like I said – she has a hot date," Richard grinned, folding his arms and watching her.

"Mmmm. It seems that way," Craig agreed, also watching Sharron. "As soon as she's finished what do you say we go home and get a beer or two, or three, or four?"

"Yes, all right. But only if you're paying."

Craig turned and stared at his friend in mock horror. "After all I've been through you want **_me_ **to pay for the beer!"

"Well, maybe I'll get in the first round, but . . . ."

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!"

"Well, you do owe me all that money," Richard told him. "And I believe that I paid your bar tab in . . . ."

"You are kidding me, right?" Craig looked incredulous.

Still arguing about it, they walked towards Sharron.

* * *

The End.

Mandi Sheridan

September 2003.


End file.
